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THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
THOUGHT AND FEELING 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
THOUGHT AND FEELING 

A CONSERVATIVE INTERPRETATION OF 
RESULTS IN MODERN PSYCHOLOGY 



BY 

CHARLES PLATT 

B.S., Ph.D., M.D., F.C.S. (Lond.) 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1921 






~e£ 



Copyright, 1921 
By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. 




VL\H gllil tB $t gotten Company 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
HAHWAY NEW JERSEY 



FEB 16 1921 
©CI.A608367 



So 
M. S. A. P. 



PREFACE 

This book is the outgrowth from a series of lec- 
tures, the reception of which has flattered the 
author into believing that he may, by their pub- 
lication, satisfy the wants of a larger circle. 
Such a judgment is, of course, open to sus- 
picion, but the basis for it lies in the fact that 
psychology, with its wide appeal, has hereto- 
fore been treated in its entirety only in the text- 
book manner. Psychology, while complex, is 
not abstruse ; its conclusions are open to all ; no 
other attributes of mind are required for its 
understanding than receptivity and common 
sense. Moreover, its conclusions are too impor- 
tant socially to be neglected in these troublous 
times, and should be in the possession of all. 
It is proposed, then, here to give a reasonably 
complete survey of the whole field, treating the 
matter briefly, indeed, but, it is hoped, so sug- 
gestively that the thought may be led beyond 
the compass of this small book. The social and 
educational bearings of the subject will be kept 
in the foreground throughout, while technicali- 
ties and, so far as is possible, controversial and 

yii 



PREFACE 

metaphysical problems will be omitted. No 
Don Quixote ever fought more windmills than 
has the older school of psychologists. It is the 
recognition of the windmills, and the agreement 
to pass them by as unworthy of combat, that is 
the excuse for this present writing. 

Having been prepared originally for lecture 
purposes, it has been found difficult now to give 
that careful attention to "authorities" which 
the written word demands, but effort will be 
made in the following pages to place credit 
where due. I take occasion here to express my 
especial obligation to Dr. Henry Herbert God- 
dard and to Prof. William McDougall. 
Hillbrook, C. P. 

Ardmore, Pa. 



vni 



CONTENTS 



Preface 

CHAPTER 

I Fundamental Conceptions, Ana 

TOMICAL AND OTHERWISE 

II Inherited Dispositions . 

Fear, 24; Anger, 32. 

III Other Inherited Dispositions 

Including: Sex Instinct, 39; Tender Emo- 
tion, 44; and Play, 47. 

IV The Compound Emotions 

Also, Sentiments, 58; Temperament, 68 
and Character, 70. 

V Habit 

VI Memory 

VII Knowledge and Intelligence 

VIII Thought and Judgment . 

IX Education 



X The Subconscious Mind . 

Nature and Contents, 157; The Mind Cure 
164; Mysticism, 175; Spiritualism and 
Telepathy, 182; Truth and the Subcon- 
scious Impulse, 201. 
ix 



PAGE 

vii 



1 

22 

37 

54 

71 

77 

93 

103 

123 

157 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XI Mental Ills 208 

Abnormality, 208; Neurasthenia and Hys- 
teria, 211 j Freud, 225; and Insanity, 232. 

XII The Crowd 242 

XIII The Delinquent . . . .258 
Index 285 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
THOUGHT AND FEELING 



THE PSYCHOLOGY OF 
THOUGHT AND FEELING 

CHAPTER I 

FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS: ANATOMICAL AND 
OTHEBWISE 

Man, unlike other animals, is curious as to him- 
self. The why of his actions, the how of his 
thought, the what of his ego — these are the 
problems which have ever dangled tantalizingly 
before him. Know thyself, commanded the 
portals of Apollo's temples, and man has ever 
striven earnestly to obey the behest. Nor has 
the endeavour been always futile— practical re- 
sults have been attained even in the philosophi- 
cal-metaphysical past; Socrates was subtile in 
analysis; Montaigne, twenty centuries later, 
was admirable in description; and Browning 
has been unsurpassed in the expression of in- 
tuitive feeling. But, there was something wrong 
— the problems were too ambitious. With the 
Ego was sought Consciousness, and, soon, 
Time, and Space, and the Soul. Abstracts, in 

1 



PSYCHOLOGY OP THOUGHT AND FEELING 

general, enveloped the seeker in so dense a 
mental fog, and led him plunging along so miry 
a way, that he was able to extricate himself only 
after abandoning all that he had gained. The 
metaphysical discussion commonly came out 
the same road it had entered, or, if it did not so 
emerge, it remained a mere mental gymnastic 
of most limited appeal. It would seem that the 
seeker in metaphysical psychology set out, he 
the most complex and artificial of men, to study 
himself by a process of introspection. His ef- 
fort was to get outside of himself, to study him- 
self from without, but the fact remained that 
what he studied was that which he studied with. 
It was a lifting of one 's self by the boot-straps, 
and, as the gentle Philosopher of Chelsea said 
of it, ' ' a hopeless struggle for the wisest as for 
the foolishest," adding, by way of pertinent 
commentary, "an Irish saint once swam the 
Channel carrying his head in his teeth, but the 
feat has never been imitated. ' ' 

Then came Darwin and a new biology. Doors 
were opened, and psychology timidly peeped 
through with interested longing glances at the 
new world revealed. These doors were labelled 
Ethics, and Morals, Social and Political Econ- 
omy, Law, Criminology, Medicine, Business, 
History, and Education — they offered much 

2 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

promise. But no, the psychologist must not 
venture to pass — the authority of society ex- 
citedly prevented. "Our social structures are 
complete; these doors lead to error.' ' The 
church shrieked its horror at what had been 
glimpsed, and law, medicine, and economics, 
and even pedagogy, quick shut their eyes. 
With prompt understanding, the Existing-Con- 
cepts recognized that what the seeking psy- 
chologist was making toward would shake their 
very foundations. The new thought, then, must 
of course be wrong; and the psychologist, if he 
wished to retain his place in society (if he 
wished, for instance, to retain his chair in the 
university) , must keep hands off. In the face of 
this universal bow-wow what was the poor stu- 
dent to do ? The result, the first product of the 
possibilities of a broader science, was a retire- 
ment from the affairs of society altogether; a 
withdrawal to the laboratory, and devotion 
there, of time and thought, to artificial experi- 
ment. Psychology became a thing of appa- 
ratus and remained barren before the world. 
Charted curves of reactions took the place of 
metaphysical discussion, and the result was 
even less interesting than before. So was psy- 
chology one generation ago. 
What has brought about the present change 1 
3 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

I do not know, but I suspect the world unrest, 
and the doubt, beginning to form in man's mind, 
that all was not so well as had been proclaimed. 
The phase which we are now passing through 
socially may be characterized as the Phase of 
the Militant Minorities. Now minorities are 
not always wrong, and whether, with Henry 
Adams and others, we should apply to society 
the second law of thermodynamics, the law of 
the degradation of energy, may still well be 
doubted, but, on the other hand, such evidence 
as society can produce would not seem to be 
very encouraging. Indolent majorities have 
everywhere bowed to the pathological energies 
of small abnormal groups. The political econo- 
mists have seen their well-planned structures 
tumbled about them, and are even now being 
driven to explain. It is a time for taking in- 
ventory — it is more than this, it is a time when 
our understanding of affairs must become more 
real; when man must make a complete read- 
justment of the social mechanism — "If we do 
not mend the machine, there are forces moving 
in the world that will break it." * Possibly- 
difficult thought! — the existing economies may 
not have been founded on elemental truth after 
all! 

* Stephen Leacock, The Unsolved Riddle of Social Justice. 

4 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

The above is one way of looking at it. There 
is another. Possibly the machine is all right, 
and the trouble is with ns. Possibly we are not 
using the machine to advantage, and it is our- 
selves that need the mending. What we may 
need is not a readjustment of the social mechan- 
ism, but a readjustment to it. At any rate, let 
us study man once again and not rest on our 
present formulas. Biology in its investigations 
seeks the simpler manifestations of a life form, 
and builds from these to the more complex. 
Let us do the same. Let us study the child; 
and let us study man, too, but in the more primi- 
tive environment of savagery ; and let us study 
the idiot and the imbecile, whom we may take as 
the permanent children of the race, willing to 
stand still while we study. The savage is not 
necessarily primitive, nor is the imbecile the 
same as the child, but the relation in each case 
is a real one, and based upon it is much of the 
reasoning that follows. 

Whatever the cause of the new attitude 
toward the science, the doors are now flung 
wide, and psychology has come to its being. 
What William James defined as "the descrip- 
tion and explanation of states of consciousness, 
as such," William McDougall, in the modern 
spirit, defines as "the science of behaviour and 

5 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

of conduct. ' ' The evolution of the last genera- 
tion in psychology is seen in these two defini- 
tions. The principles of organic evolution, the 
facts of anatomy, and the interpretations of 
physiology and pathology, are all called into 
service, and useful work in practical fields 
begins. 

Let us adopt as a general thesis : — that man 
has certain tendencies or dispositions; that 
these determine his actions ; that most of these 
dispositions are innate, inherited, and are, in 
one sense, unchangeable; that they may, how- 
ever, be modified in their expression by educa- 
tion and experience. Further, we will conceive 
society, as we find it, to be a product of these 
innate tendencies of the individual — a com- 
posite of the individuals composing it. And, 
finally, we will recognize that while society is 
so composed, it, in turn, reacts upon the indi- 
vidual, directing and modifying his every 
action. The individual is what he is because 
of his innate tendencies as modified by society. 
Society — institutions, customs, parties, ideals, 
morals, all these — is what it is, under normal 
conditions, in response to the needs of the 
individual. 

It is true that individuals are many, and 
6 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

types are many, but similar-minded men tend to 
come together, so that, in fact, society presents 
not one composite, but many — the composite 
groups of like-minded. Thus a certain small 
group of thoughtful people unite to form a Uni- 
tarian Fellowship, while a vastly larger group 
unite to form the Roman Catholic Church. One 
baby is bom a Conservative, another is born a 
Liberal. And this means far more than just 
being born into a conservative family, or into a 
liberal family, or into a Unitarian family; it 
means, literally, being born with the innate 
tendencies appropriate to one or the other of 
these attitudes. It means, too, therefore, 
though fortunately this does not often happen, 
that a Unitarian may be born into a Catholic 
family, or a Catholic into a Unitarian family, or 
a conservative into a liberal family. I say that 
it is fortunate that this does not often happen, 
for when it does it must result either in but 
lukewarm adherence to the family traditions, or 
in severance from the same, amid family 
laments. The accident of birth may determine, 
at least temporarily, a man's classification, but 
it is the luggage the baby brings into the world, 
his potential brain patterns, which will decide 
what he is really to be. 
I have adopted the term innate tendency, or 
7 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

disposition, where the term instinct is com- 
monly used, but this latter word I prefer to 
reserve for a more specific and limited applica- 
tion. By innate tendency I mean an inherited 
psychological and physiological disposition 
which determines that its possessor shall react 
in a particular manner to a given stimulus. 
These dispositions will vary all the way from 
simple nerve reflexes, such as the knee-jerk, to 
the most highly complex emotional reactions, 
and in this range, of course, the instincts will be 
included; but I follow Bergson in making in- 
stinct a specific evolutionary product— a di- 
verging tendency, not a linear antecedent of 
man's intellectuality. This will be referred to 
later, under sex. It is with the innate tendency 
in general that we are now concerned, especially 
with its higher manifestations. It is assumed 
that the stimulus, being received, excites a pre- 
pared brain pattern which, in turn, gives origin 
to an emotional state. This emotional state 
may itself rise but faintly into consciousness; 
but the two together, the brain pattern re- 
inforced by the emotion, result in characteristic 
action. 

The word pattern will be frequently used in 
this book. Let us get, to start with, a clear 
conception of this convenient term, and for this 

8 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

purpose let me review, in the briefest possible 
manner, the structure of the nervous system. 
We shall omit as irrelevant to our aim all the 
refinements of modern physiological research. 

There are in the human body, and in the 
bodies of all the higher animals, two related 
systems of nerves, the cerebro-spinal and the 
sympathetic, the former being directly asso- 
ciated with our voluntary movements, and 
the latter more intimately associated with 
the life process itself, and, therefore, with 
the more involuntary acts of the body. 

Starting with the cerebro-spinal system, and 
its centre, the brain, we find this latter to 
be a bulk of nerve tissue containing, as its 
essential elements, myriads of nerve cells from 
which pass off tentacle-like processes of vary- 
ing length. There are in all some ten thousand 
million of these cells, or neurons, as they are 
called, arranged in certain fairly defined but 
merging groups, each with its specific function. 
The brain is placed in a bony compartment, the 
skull, and is thereby protected from direct in- 
terference from without, but it is connected 
with the rest of the body, and, in a sense, with 
the external world, by the nerves, the prolonga- 
tions of the nerve cell processes just mentioned. 
Certain of these cell processes, the cranial 

9 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

nerves, pass through openings in the skull to 
the face and neighbouring regions, while others, 
the spinal nerves, unite to form the cable of the 
spinal cord, to be later given off to the body at 
regular intervals through apertures in the 
spinal column. 

The spinal cord itself contains nerve cells, 
these acting as relays to the transmission of the 
nerve impulse, much as in telegraphy the elec- 
tric impulse is carried long distances by means 
of relay batteries. Thus, a nerve impulse does 
not pass over a continuous "wire" from the 
point of stimulation to the receptive area in the 
brain, but, after travelling a longer or shorter 
distance, the "wire" is broken, and the impulse 
picked up and relayed on by another nerve cell. 
Several such interruptions may occur in the 
total path. 

In this manner the brain is connected with 
the rest of the body; certain of the nerves 
carrying afferent or incoming currents, and 
certain others, the efferent or outgoing. The 
afferent nerves carry to the brain stimulations 
received by their distal extremities; the brain 
receives this stimulation, reacts in a certain 
manner, and then sends out an appropriate 
answer, an impulse over the efferent nerves. 
Thus, the hand has been placed upon a hot plate 

10 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

— a stimulus passes over certain nerves, whose 
function it is to receive impressions of tempera- 
ture, and this stimulation, reaching the brain, 
there causes a reaction which results in the ac- 
tivating of certain cells in the motor area. 
From these motor cells there passes out an im- 
pulse over the efferent nerves by which the 
proper muscles are set in motion, and the hand 
is withdrawn. In the same manner the stimuli 
of sight, hearing, smell, touch, pain, and pres- 
sure, are brought to the brain, and, there being 
appreciated, give rise to appropriate action. 

In certain nerve actions, notably in those 
known as reflex, it may be that the nerve im- 
pulse will not reach the brain until after the 
action, its purpose, has been already accom- 
plished. Here it would seem that under cer- 
tain conditions, as, for instance, for safety's 
sake, where delay would be dangerous, the duty 
of the brain may be taken over by the nerve 
cells of the spinal cord, as being usefully nearer 
to the source of stimulation. Your hand comes 
into contact with the point of a pin, and it is 
instantly jerked away, but the pain may not be 
felt until after the action is completed, or at 
least until after it has been begun. Here the 
motor impulse was supplied by motor cells in 
the spinal cord, though the stimulus did still 

n 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

pass on to the brain where it was duly received 
and registered — in explanation, as it were, of 
the usurped function. It would seem reason- 
able to assume that all reflexes have, or have 
had, a purpose, but some of the reflexes now 
possessed by man are not explainable by any 
present known need. They probably remain 
with us as vestiges of the past. In a general 
way there has been a tendency in animal de- 
velopment to put more and more of the burden 
of life on the brain. Many of the functions 
there seated with us, in less developed animals 
are performed habitually under the control of 
the spinal nerve centres. Thus, a frog from 
which the brain has been removed will still be- 
have much as a perfectly good frog should do. 
It will "strike out" when placed in water; it 
will creep up an inclined plane; it will en- 
deavour to brush off a drop of acid placed upon 
its skin. 

James has said that the animal takes in and 
gives out, while man takes in, turns over, and 
gives out — the turning-over process being the 
mental appreciation of a stimulus as an ante- 
cedent to action. But, aside from the spinal 
reflexes common to both man and beast, both 
man and beast do "turn over" in the brain all 
received stimulation, whether the process be a 

12 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

conscious one or not. All brain action is not 
necessarily conscious, and many actions styled 
reflex are really unconscious brain actions — un- 
conscious because so established by habit that 
they no longer need our attention for their per- 
formance. Of these automatic actions, as they 
should properly be called, other animals un- 
doubtedly possess more than does man. 

It is to be remembered that in all of this flow 
of the nerve current, incoming and outgoing, 
and within the brain itself, the path of the flow 
becomes frequently broken. The nerve force, 
the neurokyme, flows through a process of the 
nerve cell, through the body of the cell, and 
through another process or extension for a 
greater or lesser distance, and then comes a 
break — leaping now a microscopic gap it passes 
on to the process of another cell to be, in turn, 
relayed by this on its farther course. At each 
of these breaks a choice presents itself — which 
of the close-lying neighbouring cells shall it be 
that shall pick up the current and thus pass it 
on? It is here that the innate disposition steps 
in. The evolutionary development itself has 
determined in a general way the direction of 
the nerve path, but its minor deviations depend 
upon the particular inheritances of the indi- 
vidual. 

13 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Now a path once travelled is the path 
most easily retra veiled. The path once used 
becomes the path of choice. Herein lies the 
root of habit, and indeed of life itself ; for were 
chance only to determine the path of the nerve 
current, no life, on our complex plane, would 
be possible. This, then, is our conception of 
the neuron pattern — a pathway formed, and 
inviting to subsequent travel. As regards its 
development and the cause of its persistence 
through the generations, it may be noted that 
the innate pattern is one which has " worked' ' 
in the past. Things done in a certain way, re- 
actions of a certain kind, if successful and con- 
ducive to survival perpetuate themselves, for 
those who have such reactions last best, and 
have more children than those who react in 
some less useful manner. Of the thousands of 
possible reactions, by far the greater number, 
the poor ones, tend to die out — they do not 
work — and those who use them die out too. It 
is ever the successful useful pattern that sur- 
vives and becomes the race tendency, though it 
may, too, of course, long outlive its period of 
usefulness. 

It has been objected to this pattern concep- 
tion that if a Chinese baby be brought up in 
England with English children it will behave as 

14 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

they do, and not as do the Chinese. But this 
signifies nothing — the major patterns with 
which we are chiefly concerned antedate all di- 
vergence of race and were undoubtedly com- 
mon to the primitive ancestors of all. And as 
regards the minor differences in our inheri- 
tances, it must be remembered that a pattern is 
not believed to be a compelling control, but 
merely a preferred pathway — it does not func- 
tion if the appropriate stimulus be lacking. 

From the educational and developmental 
standpoint the pathways of especial import- 
ance are those laid down in the brain. The new- 
born babe has certain motor areas developed, 
and also certain perception areas — notably that 
of light vision, and, a little later, that of hear- 
ing — but these are all practically unconnected, 
and life begins on the simple reflex plan. The 
new-born babe takes in and gives out, but does 
not take in, turn over, and give out. As the 
days pass, however, these areas do gradually 
become connected, by what are called associa- 
tion fibres, until, soon, a stimulation received 
in one area is promptly passed on to the others, 
and the brain now begins to act as a whole. 
Thus, certain pictures produced in the visual, 
or auditory fields become associated with cer- 
tain body sensations, as, for instance, with the 

15 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

discomfort of hunger, and, in turn, give rise to 
certain motor responses, such as the cry, and 
the extended hands. 

It may be safely said that all life's develop- 
ment, all mental education, consists in adding 
to the associations possible, and in estab- 
lishing those of most practical value to us. 
Pure sensation is possible only to the young- 
est infant — to all others sensation becomes a 
matter of appreciation, and is elaborated by 
associations until it attains to the appropriate 
response. Illustration seems superfluous, but 
to give just one — a gently turning door-knob 
makes no very frightful sound, but if you have 
supposed yourself to be alone in the house a 
door-knob so turning will not unlikely cause a 
cold chill of alarm. It is the association, of 
course, that arouses the response, and not at all 
the actual stimulus. The difference between 
the child and the adult, and between the feeble- 
minded and the normal, as well as between the 
beast and the man, lies in the relative perfec- 
tion of their associations and in the elaboration 
of the pathways formed and available. 

To reiterate, each of the pathways, whatever 
its elaboration of detail, constitutes a brain pat- 
tern, and if we go back to the thesis with which 
we began this chapter, it will be recognized that 

16 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

the innate disposition, there spoken of, is but 
an inherited tendency of pattern — a tendency to 
form certain brain patterns more easily than 
others. From ten thousand million cells an 
almost infinite variety of pattern is possible. 
Ten thousand million — just think what this fig- 
ure means ! It means, numerically, one cell for 
every six seconds of time since the first moment, 
of the first day, of year One of our era! But 
by physical inheritances in brain development, 
and in the spinal nerves as well, we obtain tend- 
encies which lead the nerve force more aptly in 
certain directions than in others and make it 
more likely to be picked up by certain of the 
possible connecting cells. Why may a pos- 
thumous son stand and walk like his father? 
Why are some of us born Unitarians, and 
others of us Eoman Catholics? The answers 
are obvious. 

All the diversities of life trace back to the in- 
herited, or acquired, brain pattern, and these, 
too, in their elaboration by association consti- 
tute the whole of psychology. Through all life 
the pattern remains, like a set-piece of fire- 
works, awaiting the spark — not always, of 
course, in consciousness, but ready always when 
the appropriate stimulus arrives. 

In all this I have spoken only of the cerebro- 
17 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

spinal nerves, but it must be remembered that 
besides the cerebrospinal system we have an- 
other, the sympathetic, and this, too, shares in 
the formation of the inherited patterns. It is 
this sympathetic system — a fine network of deli- 
cate nerve fibrils — which controls chiefly the in- 
voluntary actions, the blood vessels, the diges- 
tive, glandular and other organic functions; 
and it is to the activities of these sympathetic 
nerves, the oldest, in a developmental sense, of 
our bodies, that we owe our life process itself. 
It is from them, too, that we derive our emo- 
tions, for an emotion is but a sense appreciation 
by the brain of the action of the various glands 
and other organs. 

Anatomically and physiologically the two 
systems of nerves are distinct, and yet they 
are connected — the sympathetic system having 
its origins in a series of nerve ganglia (groups 
of nerve cells) placed just in front of the spine, 
which ganglia directly connect with the cerebro- 
spinal system through the cord. So close is this 
connection that while the sympathetic nerves 
may, theoretically, be independently active, it 
is doubtful whether in man this ever actually 
occurs. It would seem, rather, that practically 
there is no operation of the one set of nerves 
without some reflected action of the other. A 

18 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

stimulus comes to us from without, is received 
by the cerebro-spinal nerves, is carried to the 
brain where it activates certain cells, and these, 
in turn, as we have already seen, send out cur- 
rents over the motor nerves to the muscles. 
But part of this efferent force, also, it must 
be noted, flows through the connecting nerve 
filaments into the sympathetic system, and it 
is by this diverted current that the various 
glandular and other visceral changes are 
brought about. The "a/fect" of these organic 
changes, the sensation of them felt by the brain, 
is what we call an emotion; the immediate re- 
sult of the changes — their effect — is a rein- 
forcement of the action set up by the cerebro- 
spinal system. Thus, a situation arises provo- 
cative of anger — the organic changes here seem 
due chiefly to sympathetic excitation of the 
adrenal glands — the blood pressure rises, the 
respiration is quickened, the heart beats more 
strongly and more rapidly, and the blood con- 
tent is altered in the direction of providing an 
increase in elements conducive to muscle activ- 
ity. In other words the body, sympathetically 
as well as consciously, prepares for increased 
self-expression — for fight. 

Probably, as we have said, all mental experi- 
ences involve some stimulation of the sympa- 

19 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

thetic, but it is only when this stimulation be- 
comes considerable that its effects rise into con- 
sciousness. The effects may there be entirely 
unregistered, or they may be sensed as mere 
"feeling," the result of a moderate stimulation; 
but again, this same stimulation, or another, 
sufficiently intensified, may rise to full con- 
sciousness with strong emotional value. Inter- 
est may be regarded as the mild pleasing affect 
associated with the motor state of attention 
and the innate disposition of curiosity; but with 
marked increase in intensity, with powerful 
stimulation, a true emotional state may develop. 
We have, then, in the body two sets of nerves, 
the central or cerebro-spinal, and the visceral 
or sympathetic, these systems being independ- 
ent, and yet related an4 connected to a degree 
that makes it possible, for all purposes of ap- 
plied psychology, to treat of them as one. 
"When a stimulus is received a nerve impulse 
darts here and there throughout the entire 
nervous system, and this impulse, or current, 
follows a path which has become preferred and 
established largely by the needs of our ances- 
tors. Further, these inherited, preferred path- 
ways of flow constitute for us the foundation of 
our innate dispositions. To understand our re- 
actions fully, the sympathetic and cerebro- 

20 



FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS 

spinal systems must both be considered, but in 
this inheritance from the remote past it is the 
sympathetic, with the emotion it gives rise to, 
which is of first importance. As Bergson says : 
"We think with only a small part of our past, 
but it is with our entire past, including the 
original bent of our soul, that we desire, will, 
and act, ' ' 



21 



CHAPTER II 

INHERITED DISPOSITIONS! FEAR AND ANGER 

With the understanding of the nature of our 
inheritances as laid down in the first chapter, 
let us consider some of those which have a 
major importance both to man and to society. 
No exhaustive study can here be made, but let 
us get an idea of the psychological attitude in 
what must be but a paragraphic review. 

We have found that physiologically the emo- 
tion is the result of gland action — a sensing of 
this action by the consciousness. Any stimulus 
may excite directly, or through some more or 
less realized idea, one or several of the glandu- 
lar activities, and the glands so set in action 
will be those which by racial or individual ex- 
perience have proven useful in similar situa- 
tions. The sensing of the gland action, we say, 
constitutes the emotion. Now the sensations or 
affects most familiar to man have been dignified 
by names, but it must be evident that such nam- 
ing is only a matter of convenience, that it can 
have no other significance. In fact the naming 
and classifying of the simple emotions, and the 

22 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

analysing of the more complex, is an exercise of 
ingenuity rather than of science. 

In view of this fact it might be more truly 
scientific to effect our classification of the innate 
tendencies by reference to the instinctive pur- 
poses aimed at; but here at once we meet with 
the practical difficulty that there are too few 
such purposes to be useful for descriptive 
analysis. Going back in a search for the in- 
stinctive purpose, we find no ground to stand 
on until we arrive at those two primal urges 
— the striving, more or less consciously, toward 
self-preservation; and the striving, more or 
less unconsciously, toward the continuance of 
the race. A division into but two classes is not 
helpful, and yet, when we begin to further sub- 
divide, when we begin to note the kinds and 
qualities of strivings, and the varied methods 
by which the instinctive longings are satisfied, 
then we find ourselves back on the emotional 
basis, and once again our classification becomes 
a matter of language. As usual, man reads his 
own ideas of "order" into the great complex 
of nature, but, as by so doing he makes it more 
comprehensible to his finite mind, the method 
can not yet be abandoned. 

There is a tendency with laboratory psycholo- 
gists to deny the primitive nature of many of 

23 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

the emotions now to be considered, but their 
judgment is largely based upon the study of the 
infant and is, therefore, inadequate. The in- 
fant has not the physiological and anatomic 
development of neurons necessary to reveal all 
of its instincts. Such development is to be ob- 
tained by growth only, and will arrive, in a 
normal child, as the need becomes established. 
But whether actually primitive or only " early 
conditioned, ' ' the significance of these reactions 
is the same, for they could not have been so 
uniformly developed throughout the race were 
they not the product of preferred, i.e. inherited 
patterns. 

Fear 

Fear is to be placed as one of the most primi- 
tive of man's emotional responses, and is com- 
mon, too, to all but the lowest of animal life. 
Its purpose may be conceived as the preserva- 
tion of the individual when faced by a superior 
and menacing power; and its expression, as the 
effort toward flight or concealment. With a 
child the full inheritance is here displayed, and 
here, more than with most inheritances, the 
primitive origin of our tendencies is revealed. 
That which was a menace to our earliest forest- 
living ancestors remains, today, a menace to the 

24 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

child. Sudden unfamiliar situations, loud and 
sudden noises, sounds which are harsh and 
gruff, low growling, and dark holes and corners, 
mysterious creakings, and creeping things — 
these are, with most, innately acknowledged as 
fearful, and innately call forth the appropriate 
response. 

As reason develops, both emotion and ex- 
pression become intellectually modified, but 
even in the adult the influence of the original 
tendency can generally be detected. The child 
reaction, being primitive, persists. "I expect 
in many growed-up men you'd call sensible 
there's a little boy sleepin' — the little kid they 
onced was — that still keeps his fear of the 
dark."* The fear of darkness may not be, 
strictly speaking, primitive, but darkness, with 
its uncertainties, has doubtless an aggravating 
effect on other fear-producing stimuli. The 
"tank," in the late war, was a creeping thing, 
and not a little to this fact was due its 
success as a demoralizing agent. The child 
is frightened by his playmate who has just 
donned a grotesque mask; and he laughs 
and he cries as his parent crawls toward 
him growling — reason and primitive emotion 
struggle for mastery, while already the emotion 

* Owen Wister : The Virginian. 

25 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

itself has become modified and softened until it 
is almost a pleasure. In the highly complex 
environment of modern life new elements and 
dangers enter— these the child can have no 
innate tendency to avoid — here reason alone 
can determine the appropriate reaction, and the 
child therefore approaches fearlessly that which 
the parent regards with terror. 

Here, then, is an example of all I have been 
saying — an inherited emotional reaction follow- 
ing the brain and nerve patterns which have 
been laid down in the experience of the past; 
an emotion, with its accompanying motor ex- 
pression, determining our present behaviour, 
though modified now by added experience and 
reason. 

Physiologically, we find an excitation of the 
adrenal glands, with increased body tensions, 
and with general preparations for muscle activ- 
ity. At least this is the case where the expres- 
sion is to be that of flight. Where concealment 
is the purpose very complex developments 
occur ; a degree of body tension is achieved, but 
with it is a slowing of heart and respiration in 
a general effort to avoid the slightest revealing 
movement. Several glands are undoubtedly in- 
volved, and contrary tendencies develop — so in- 
appropriately, at times, that the purpose of the 

26 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

emotion becomes defeated. A paralysis of fear 
may be the outcome when flight is most urgently 
called for; and flight may inopportunely take 
place after safe concealment has been accom- 
plished. Trembling is probably due to uncer- 
tain stimulation of opposing muscles, and may 
be brought about by the direct action of the 
adrenal secretion in the absence of control from 
the brain. 

All this is from the individual standpoint. 
What part does this emotion play in social life'? 

Society, it has been stated, is an outgrowth 
from the needs of individual man. Though 
often jolted out of the normal evolutionary path 
by the revolutions of invention and discovery, 
it seems, however, to have been generally 
formed in response to man's emotional de- 
mands. The emotion of the individual passes 
into the social body and there determines the 
form of its institutions, but in this process re- 
markable transformations and strange develop- 
ments occur. 

Fear, for instance, while primitively useful, 
is nowadays, other than as caution and fore- 
sight, generally harmful. Nevertheless, fear is 
responsible for the foundation of that greatest 
of social forces, our religion. Let no one take 
offence. I refer to the elemental religion of 

27 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

primitive man, not to Christianity. The re- 
ligion I write of is older than the New Testa- 
ment — older, in fact, that the Old. Reverence, 
we shall find, is a compound of the primary 
emotions of wonder, negative self-feeling, 
tender emotion, and fear — having arrived at 
this fusion through the intermediate stages of 
admiration, awe, and gratitude. In other 
words, reverence is an elaboration possible only 
to a highly developed brain. The beginning of 
this complex, in primitive man, was fear. 

Carlyle and others have attributed the birth 
of religion to awe and admiration. This con- 
cept is inspiring, but it is psychologically 
wrong, unless we begin our research at a period 
considerably later than that to which I refer. 
For primitive man did little wondering ; he did 
not fall down in admiration of the rising sun, 
nor marvel at the broad expanse of the heavens 
— no more than does your child. These things 
he accepted as a matter of course. Had he been 
born in darkness, and had he reached maturity 
before these glories were revealed to him, then 
indeed he might have felt all that Carlyle has 
so beautifully portrayed. It was not the sun, 
the sky, the rain, that first caught man's atten- 
tion, it was the lightning, the thunder, the flood, 
the tempest, and death. Here were destructive 

28 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

and malicious forces which did him harm. Be- 
fore these he was powerless, and yet — after all, 
the lightning and thunder were only occasional, 
the flood was sometimes a useful stream, the 
rain was often a blessing, and death might 
threaten, and then withdraw. These forces 
were not, then, always malicious; their anger 
was sometimes abated. Is it not as with man? 
Let us propitiate these our enemies that they 
may harm us less often. Let us pay to them our 
devoirs. 

Many centuries pass, and the nature forces, 
the apseras, the formless ones, become more 
and more anthropomorphic. Man is no longer, 
strictly speaking, primal, and religion is already 
becoming complex, but still the fear element 
prevails. Spirits of men and of supermen now 
live in the roar of the tempest. Man's ambi- 
tions and contests and jealousies are now seen 
in the alternations and contrasts of the natural 
phenomena. We are now at the period of our 
first contact with the Aryan beliefs — the Sky, 
the Sun, the Dawn are entering men's thoughts. 
Good gods appear, and struggle with the bad, 
but still the bad are the ones to be especially 
regarded — the good will do us no harm. Then, 
especially with those Aryans whose migrations 
had ended in gentle climes, the good gods begin 

29 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

to take precedence, and the evil of the old gods 
becomes but an angry mood of the new. But 
malicious god or angry good god, it is much the 
same — the fear motif remains as the chief de- 
terminant of worship. Fear now, too, becomes 
the basis of law and of morals. The propitia- 
tion of the gods becomes the tribal duty, and 
the individual who has done wrong, who has 
exposed the tribe to the wrath of the gods, is 
at once subjected to punishment. Magic, too, 
comes into play, and the priests, who once had 
only to instruct how harm might be avoided, are 
now consulted as a power in themselves, as hav- 
ing influence with the gods — an attitude not yet 
passed away. 

For the next step our concern is with the 
Semitic belief. The tribal unity is broken, the 
priestly government is weakened, its subjects 
scattered, and the individual no longer fears 
the tribal revenge. How then shall justice be 
sustained? For man is now become a think- 
ing animal and is asking questions. The wicked 
man prospers in this world? Evidently, then, 
he is to be punished elsewhere, so hell is in- 
vented. But this thinking man knows, too, that 
punishment long delayed is a poor deterrent 
from wickedness, so he offsets this fact, as well 
as he can, by making hell dreadful. The place 

30 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

formerly of mere dark restlessness, endowed 
with nothing worse than a social ennui, becomes 
a place of eternal torment, under the control of 
all the evil powers of the past, united now into 
a sort of demon janitor — the devil. The Devil! 
Who is he ? * He used to be called the Prince of 
the Air — he was! He is the lineal descendant 
of the old storm gods, exiled now, after being 
stripped of all remnant of their occasional 
virtue.* 

This was long ago. Is fear no longer an 
element in religion? The fact that many a 
man today " experience s" religion only when 
he is in trouble, or when he is near death, 
may have some significance. Fear played 
no part in the teachings of Christ, but how 
about theology? How about the modern re- 
vivalist? One recent particularly noisy ex- 
ponent has based his entire system of sal- 
vation upon the old emotion of fear. In a 
sense he is right, for if, as is claimed, intellec- 
tualism is killing religion, where is its injuri- 
ous influence most felt? Is it not in its destruc- 
tion of the belief in hell — in the removal of the 
fear element from man's conception of the 
results of his actions? "Take away the hope 
of heaven — take away, much more, the fear of 

* Keary : Primitive Belief. 

31 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

hell, and you are going to be left with, at best, 
an attitude of mere politeness toward the Com- 
mandments. ' ' * Man is still primitive, after 
all; it is only the few who may safely shed the 
old motive. And religion is not of the intellect ; 
it must always remain emotional. 

Are we then, in our vanity, to sneer at the 
past, and ourselves degenerate into a world of 
atheists? Or, are we to recall a message which 
was earnestly and lovingly preached, twenty 
centuries ago, to the world's dull ears? Why 
not turn back to that message, and to that 
Teacher, and, in the tender emotion which 
underlay all of His thoughts find now that im- 
pulse we so need toward Good? It is a long 
way from the fearsome and malicious gods of 
primitive man to the stern and jealous god of 
Genesis ; it is further from the god of Genesis 
to the God of the Hebrews after the Captivity. 
The next step, taught us so many centuries ago 
by Christ, might now be ventured. 

Anger 

Fear is the safe response before superior 
power — where there is equality, or where for 
any reason there is a possibility of successful 
self-assertion, the appropriate emotion, from 

* Katherine Fullertou Gerould : Atlantic Monthly, August, 1920. 

32 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

the primitive standpoint, is anger, with its 
motor expression, the fight. 

We have here an assertion of self against 
interference from without; an assertion of the 
ego, which, to go back to the beginning, was 
probably once sexual — a defence of the mate, 
and an assertion of individual rights against 
the intrusion of interlopers. While fear goes 
back to our primitive ancestors, anger goes 
back at least as far, as is evidenced by its 
instinctive expressions. Hands, and nails 
(claws), and teeth are the weapons, as are, 
later, the club, and the convenient stone. The 
snarl and the sneer are common to dog and to 
man — they are but the display and threat of the 
" canine' ' teeth. The child claws and strikes 
and bites, using the weapons which nature long 
ago taught its forbears to use. Physiologically, 
in anger, as in fear, we have an excitation of 
the adrenal glands. 

From primitive anger and its motor tendency 
toward fight, comes, later in the development 
of man, competition and emulation, business de- 
termination, and political and social strivings. 
In fact, in one sense, the disposition toward 
fight is but a form of efferent expression which 
may be aroused by any interference with our 
ego. It is the end product of any emotion the 

33 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

expression of which is strongly desired but pre- 
vented. It is the urge which carries us over 
our difficulties, and it is, therefore, of the ut- 
most social interest. 

This egotistic reaction has played a very 
large part in the growth of civilization, even in 
its primitive form. Our western world pre- 
sents but a record of struggle, with the survival 
of the fittest, and law has become largely syn- 
onymous with force. Has the influence always 
been bad! Let us see. That in physical 
struggle the physically strongest may win is, of 
course, true, but physical strength, especially in 
group and national fights, is by no means alone 
in determining the result; physical strength 
often bows before social development and 
worth. Co-operation, foresight, and recogni- 
tion of leadership are richly social attributes, 
and they are, too, factors which make for ulti- 
mate success in war. It is the strongest which 
wins, but the strength is to be measured by 
moral as well as by physical superiorities. The 
natural selection of war does not necessarily, 
nor often, lead to the perpetuation of mere 
brute force ; it leads, rather, to the fixing of the 
more valuable social accomplishments. Those 
who lack these accomplishments lose out in the 
contest, and gradually disappear; those who 

34 



INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

have them most are victorious, and by their 
children perpetuate them. 

That the late great war has apparently been 
destructive only, that no good at all can be 
seen as a result, is possibly due to our lack of 
perspective. However, despite many opinions 
to the contrary, it does not seem to me that the 
late war should be held responsible for the 
present world chaos — the war was but an inci- 
dent, great as it was ! Our social structure has 
long been growing top-heavy and menacing; it 
was already creaking, and splitting, and totter- 
ing when Germany threw in her bomb. The 
wreckage which has followed the explosion is 
no common result — it was precipitated by, but 
not due to the bomb. 

Some of the effects of this founding of our 
western civilization on so strenuous an emotion 
are most interesting historically. Let me refer 
to one. Buddhism and Christianity are alike 
religions of peace, and both were born of peace- 
loving Asiatic races; but while the former 
found at once its natural habitat, and became a 
religion in fact — a religion which its professors 
were expected to practise — the latter met with 
a somewhat different fate, and its acceptance 
was long delayed. Buddhism stayed at home, 
but Christianity flowed westward, and, largely 

35 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

under the influence of the political power of 
Eome, was "handed" to Europe. What then 
is the situation? Here is a religion founded on 
love and peace, in a society founded on com- 
petition and fight. No wonder lip-service be- 
came the only service possible ; no wonder there 
has remained so vast a discrepancy between the 
profession and the fact. Chesterton says that 
it is not that Christianity has been tried and 
found wanting, but that it has been found diffi- 
cult, and so has not been tried. The peaceful 
Asiatic is true to his peaceful religion ; the war- 
like European makes but a sorry adjustment 
to his. 

In the sublimations of this same primitive 
emotion — in the intense striving of business, the 
modern version of the old fight instinct — the 
same differences are seen; the Asiatic remains 
passive and incapable when faced by his pug- 
nacious western rival. Japan is no exception, 
it is a further endorsement of the idea, for 
Japan has Malay as well as Mongol ancestors, 
and the Malays fight. As a result, Japan treats 
its religion as an ethical ornament, as do we 
ours in the West; and Japan, also, maintains 
shops on Broadway. Leaving Japan aside, the 
East is the East and the West is the West, and 
the line of cleavage lies deep in the inherited 
tendencies of man. 

36 



CHAPTER III 

OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS, INCLUDING THE SEX 
INSTINCT, TENDER EMOTION, AND PLAY 

Disgust is an expression of repulsion, and like 
fear is an aversion, but here with the thought of 
rejection of the offending object, rather than 
with that of escape from it. Primitively, true to 
the etymology of the word itself, it is associated 
almost entirely with food, and it is still accom- 
panied today, though now highly modified and 
extended intellectually, with this same gastric 
relation. We express nausea and disgust by the 
same facial expression, and our language still 
records the connection. That which disgusts us 
" makes us sick," and inelegant man still spits 
on the ground to show his lack of love for his 
boss. 

Positive and negative self-feeling are emo- 
tions of importance. The former reveals itself in 
a tendency toward self-assertion, and is there- 
fore closely related to anger; while the latter, 
with its tendency toward self-abasement, is cor- 
respondingly related to fear. They might, in- 
deed, be considered as intellectual derivatives 

37 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

of these more primitive and grosser emotions, 
were it not that their presence is evident in ani- 
mals other than man and it is still convenient to 
reserve the idea of intellectual refinement to 
the latter. Bashfukiess is conceived of as an 
alternation of positive and negative self- 
feeling. 

Curiosity, the tendency to approach and in- 
vestigate, is also elemental in the same sense as 
above, namely, that it appears in many of the 
lower animals. Once a preservative tendency, 
asking, "Is it dangerous V ', it has since become 
extended until now it is one of the roots of much 
of man's research, invention, discovery, and 
study. From asking " Is it dangerous V\ it has 
now come to asking "Will it work?" Wonder 
is a fusion of curiosity with negative self- 
feeling, and is therefore not elemental. 

The gregarious instinct has but a vague emo- 
tional content — a vague sense of lack, an in- 
tangible but real sense of uneasiness when one 
has become separated from one's kind. It is 
strong with certain animals urging them to 
strenuous endeavour to reunite with the herd. 
With man it varies greatly in strength, but the 
part it plays socially is a large one, it being 
a principal determinant in all man's fore- 
gathering, whether for social purposes, for 

38 






OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

sight-seeing, or for pleasure; and it is, too, 
one of the great factors in the huge growth of 
our cities. The same motive which originally 
brought animals together for safety is now a 
large part of, though not identical with, that 
which we call the " social instinct." 

The Sex Instinct 

In our opening remarks on the inherited dis- 
positions we found that if these be studied from 
the standpoint of their purpose all fall into one 
or other of two categories — those looking 
toward self-preservation, and those which tend 
to perpetuate the race. The dispositions of the 
first class are real and personal, and conscious 
of their end ; those of the second are equally real 
and personal, but are largely unconscious of 
end. In this second class the sex instinct is 
paramount. 

According to Freud, sex feeling is at the root 
of all life, and it is the sex impulse, the " li- 
bido,' ' which supplies all our energy, whether 
in sex relations or in matters intellectually far 
removed from sex. Freud has made a valu- 
able contribution to psychology in propounding 
this idea, and yet such use of the term sex 
would seem rather unfortunate. The word has a 
distinct connotation in our minds, and, for the 

39 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

great vital urge, a more general term would 
seem advisable — some such term as Bergson 
offers in his " ekm vital." This last, be it 
understood, is directly comparable with Freud's 
" libido,' ' the impulse of life itself; but, with 
Bergson the sex desire becomes merely one of 
the manifestations of this impulse — to me a 
more useful conception. 

As regards sex problems, whatever opinion 
we may hold of their nature, however important 
they may be in sociology, pathology, and crimi- 
nology, however large a part they may play in 
our happiness and our miseries, we may still 
erect a fairly complete system of psychology 
without them. They are concrete and largely 
social. Such reference as we have to make to 
them will be in our consideration of the mental 
ills. In the sex instinct itself, however, we ap- 
proach more nearly to the true animal instinct 
than we do in any other of man's inheritances, 
and for this reason it is well worth discussion 
here. It should lead us to a clearer conception 
of instinct in general. 

Begard for a moment the marvels of instinc- 
tive action in the life of the insect. When the 
mud wasp squeezes the head of the caterpillar, 
and benumbs it, and then proceeds to puncture 
successively its nine principal nerve centres, it 

40 



OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

does this with no intellectual understanding of 
the caterpillar's anatomy. When the nectar- 
loving insect plants its eggs in a bit of carrion, 
it does this with no understanding of the future 
food needs of the larvae. When the beetle 
Sitaris places its eggs so that they shall ulti- 
mately be carried to their best habitat, it does 
this with no knowledge of the long series of 
steps they must traverse. Just so long as we 
retain any thought of finding intellectual acts 
here hidden, just so long do we continue in an 
incomprehensible world of mystery. If, as 
Bergson says, the consciousness which lurks 
in instinct could be awakened to knowledge 
it would touch the most intimate secrets of 
life. 

Let the why remain a mystery — the how, 
even, is not known. But as to the how let me 
venture a flight of imagination. Stimuli come 
to the body, so far as we know, only through the 
receptive end-organs of the cerebro- spinal 
nerves, but it is conceivable that appreciations 
may come, also, directly through the sympa- 
thetic system. It is by these sympathetically 
received appreciations that I would, tentatively, 
explain the instinct of animals. And, be it 
noted, in the hymenoptera, where instinct is 
truly triumphant, there is no cerebro-spinal 

41 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

system existing. Instinct is feeling, not reason- 
ing — the broody hen does not plan a family, but, 
as James says, regards her nestf ul of eggs as an 
"utterly fascinating and precious, and never-to- 
be-too-much-sat-upon object." I am sure that 
when the brood hatches, at least the first brood, 
mother hen is often sore puzzled. 

Apply this to sex. It is common with 
psychologists to speak of an ' ' instinct of repro- 
duction, ' ' but how can such an instinct be ! Re- 
production is an intellectual concept — not 
instinctive. The sex impulse, it seems to me, 
sweeps away all ideas; it is a feeling, a most 
intense one, and reproduction is but a result of 
its satisfaction. The insect does things of vital 
importance to the continuance of its species, 
but it does them with no idea of that end — it 
does them to satisfy a desire, and so does man. 
The sex instinct, like all true instincts, is a com- 
pelling desire, not an intellectual concept evolv- 
ing the idea of reproduction. As a matter of 
fact, when the idea of reproduction does 
enter the mind it may act as a deterrent and 
check. 

Here, then, in the true instinct of sex, is a 
powerful urge, an emotional wave, which, satis- 
fied, starts in operation a sequence of events 
resulting nine months later in a baby ! Is there 

42 



I i 



OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

any more wonderful phenomenon in nature than 
this? Does the insect accomplish any more 
marvellous feat in the finding of the appropriate 
home for its eggs? Primitive man knew no 
more of biology than does the lowest animal 
today, and few among men now deliberately 
seek the intellectually appreciated end of their 
act. 

I hold, then, that the instinct is of sexual 
desire, and not of reproduction; and that it is 
by our knowledge of this desire that we are led 
to an understanding of the animal instinct. 

Intellectualization of this sex instinct has pro- 
duced some curious results. So far are the 
extremities of the sexual function separated in 
man's mind, that the first step, its inception, 
has always been counted as more or less shame- 
ful, and the last step, its culmination, has been 
esteemed as a blessing. Gods and heroes have 
been gloriously born into this world, but so 
firmly is the idea of an unworthy carnal lust 
attached to the beginning of the great miracle 
of nature, that theologians, and peoples, have 
always felt it necessary to provide for them a 
supernatural or immaculate conception. 

The sexual instinct is at the root of all so- 
ciety. By it man and woman were brought to- 
gether, and by it the family came. With the 

43 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

family came the discovery of the advantage of 
division of labour; came, too, adjustment and 
self-sacrifice — a sense of duty to the group, and 
the principle of submergence of personal rights 
in the face of the public (family) need. 

Tender Emotion 

Tender emotion, the parental instinct, is that 
altruistic impulse which leads to the protection 
of the young, and is strongest in those animals 
whose young require protection the longest. It 
is at the foundation of all unselfishness and is, 
therefore, of eminent importance in the social 
group. 

In the primitive concrete expression, tender 
emotion is characteristically a female instinct, 
and might be called the maternal, but it 
varies greatly in strength in different indi- 
viduals. One little girl loves her doll devotedly 
and tenderly cares for it; another leaves her 
doll out in the rain. One mother lives a life of 
sacrifice for her children, and another finds her 
instinct fully satisfied by turning her children 
over to the servants. Throughout woman's life, 
the instinct, if it exists at all, commonly pre- 
serves its primitive form, and its connection 
with childhood remains easily traceable. Wom- 
an's affections and interests incline to the little 

44 



OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

things, to helpless things, and she speaks of 
"the dearest little house," "the cntest little 
box," "the darlingest little boat," and even of 
* ' dear little Belgium. ' ' Note, too, the language 
of endearment in the mushy stage of love, when 
some husky brute is fondled as "Baby" ! 

With man the parental instinct is probably 
less strong than with woman, and what passes 
for it is often a complex emotion in which 
egotism is no slight component. In its exten- 
sions, too, man tends to the abstract. Little 
things do not appeal so strongly as do general 
principles of justice. The sense of equity and 
justice are psychologically male possessions, in- 
volving abstract judgments, which in women 
are obstructed by the concrete personal ap- 
peal. 

"We have mentioned "dear little Belgium." 
Since 1914 this expression has become charged 
with a compound emotional value, and anger 
uniting itself with tender emotion has produced 
what we call Trior at indignation. 

Often confused with tender emotion is— sym- 
pathy (a suffering with), the tendency to take 
to one's self the suffering of another, or, better, 
the emotional state of another. The contempla- 
tion of the emotion of another excites into activ- 
ity corresponding nerve patterns within our- 

45 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

selves. The emotion so transferred is not 
always painful ; one dog barks, one man yawns, 
one member of a herd becomes excited, and — all 
dogs within hearing bark, the man's vis-a-vis 
yawns, and the herd stampedes. Even a pre- 
tence of emotion will start a similar reaction 
in one who is especially sympathetic — as wit- 
ness the contagious laugh, the tears in the 
theatre, and the distress of a child when its 
mother pretends to cry. 

Note that this is very different from tender 
emotion. Sympathy may lack all altruistic feel- 
ing and may be strong in an absolutely self- 
centred person. The tendency of sympathy it- 
self, alone, is to get away from the sight and 
hearing of suffering. A man who is made 
miserable by a recital of pain may not lift 
his hand to relieve it. It was a sympathetic 
man who said that he could not bear to see 
women standing in the trolley car — so always 
pretended to be asleep. 

When sympathy combines with tender emo- 
tion, then we have a truly useful compound, that 
which we know as pity. Here the pain of sym- 
pathy is sweetened by the altruistic impulse. 
The Priest and the Levite may both have had 
sympathy, but the Good Samaritan was moved 
by pity. 

46 



OTHEE INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

In the tender emotion, the elements of our 
Christian religion are to be found. Christ's 
message was based upon the tender emotion; it 
was the conception of a loving Father that he 
gave to the world. Trust and gentleness were 
to replace fear and anger, and brotherly love 
the strivings of egotism. 

Play 

We come now to a tendency which differs 
from all that have preceded, in that it has, in 
itself, no specific emotional content. I refer to 
play.* The play tendency in the child and in 
other young animals has been generally ex- 
plained from the standpoint of purpose, as a 
preparation for adult life — a strengthening of 
muscles and a developing of useful co-ordinated 
movements. Now young animals certainly do 
imitate in their play the actions which will be 
useful to them later on, but purposeful acts no 
longer occupy the position they once did in psy- 
chological thought. Nature is no longer con- 
ceived of as always looking ahead — this 
prophetic spirit is now denied her. The fact is 
that play must be explained on a very different 
basis, though the results may truly be as useful 
as stated. 

* Compare G. T. W. Patrick : The Psychology of Relaxation. 

47 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

In the development of life certain primitive 
brain patterns become far more deeply graven 
than do others. These patterns are the earliest, 
the most used, and, in individual growth, the 
first brought to maturity; they are, too, the 
easiest, for dog and for puppy, for man and 
for child. Herbivorous animals run in play — 
even the non-humorous lamb manages to skip 
about a bit. Hunting animals play at fighting. 
One puppy rolls another and grabs him by the 
throat; the kitten crouches, creeps, and then 
springs on the spool. Here we have, truly, ap- 
parently a prevision of what is to come, but it 
is really only a looking backward, a response to 
the early formed, and therefore early matured, 
brain and nerve patterns just mentioned. We 
might beg the question and say that play reveals 
the primitive and must be studied to know the 
primitive. It is as with the psychology of the 
crowd, to be later considered, it opens a window 
through which we may view the past. 

The child, in his play, does not do things of 
especial use to him in his future life — except, of 
course, in the way of general muscle develop- 
ment — he reverts to primitive memories. Early 
man lived in the forest and fought with wild 
beasts, and he did this for hundreds of thou- 
sands of years — he has become civilized only 

48 



OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

since yesterday. The strongly set patterns with 
which he now starts life are those of the long 
forest period. The boy runs, wrestles, climbs, 
throws stones, and wields clubs, and, when he 
gets older, he hunts and he fishes. He did these 
things back in the days when most of Europe 
was still buried under ice ; or, if he did not, he 
died very young and therefore left no non-run- 
ning, non-hitting, non-striking children to suc- 
ceed him. 

It is the motor tendencies that are first de- 
veloped, and which are revealed in play; the 
full emotion of the original action for which 
they stand has yet to come. The so-called re- 
straint of play is but a negative phenomenon — 
it is the absence of a desire to hurt, with, pos- 
sibly, a subconscious sense that if one does hurt 
one will then suffer isolation. However, play 
becoming very intense may easily develop the 
emotion originally lacking — the play of dogs 
and of boys often ends in a fight. 

I have referred only to the play of the boy- 
child. As regards his sister, there is this dif- 
ference, that while both boy and girl follow the 
oldest race patterns, the antiquity of their pat- 
terns is not equally evident. With the boy their 
primitive nature is recognizable from the fact 
that as he grows, in this present social world, he 

49 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

is compelled to abandon them, or to reserve 
them for selected occasions ; while with the girl 
these old patterns are, today, as useful as ever 
— though she is trying to think otherwise. Old 
as they are, the patterns of womanhood are still 
ever modern, and still remain socially the best. 
The dearly beloved doll so sweetly nursed is but 
the surrogate for the child-to-be. I believe truly 
that the future welfare of the race depends 
upon the doll-loving little girl of today. We 
may add, however, for the solace of those who 
do not care for dolls, that the maternal in- 
stinct, the tender emotion of maternity, is some- 
times late in developing, and may even not come 
until the arrival of the first real baby. 

But to return to play considered as the opera- 
tion of easy old patterns. With this conception 
of its origin, the play of the adult is equally 
explained. Man tires by too long application to 
social and business affairs, and needs rest. The 
modern achievements demand the exercise of the 
more recently developed brain areas and these, 
precisely because they are so recent, fatigue the 
more quickly. Even "being good" too long 
may become burdensome; the too close appli- 
cation of the modern moral conventions will 
wear. After a week at Chautauqua Professor 
James said he felt ready for any deviltry that 

50 



OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

might present. What does man do for the rest 
which he craves? He turns back to the older 
and simpler patterns. It is like taking off a 
tight pair of new shoes and putting on again 
the comfortable old ones. He goes to the 
woods ; he lives in a tent ; he wears old clothes ; 
he hunts and he fishes ; or he digs in the ground 
in the garden. 

In speaking of the play of the adult, I am 
referring to the adult mind — something by no 
means always found in the grown-up body. Ex- 
travagant devotion to play and perpetual seek- 
ing for entertainment belong to the child mind, 
and, when found in the adult, are, in them- 
selves, evidence of the failure to grow up. It 
has been said that play is the business of the 
child, while it is man's relaxation, but to these 
grown-ups with childish minds play remains 
always a business. They need stimulation, not 
relaxation, and they seek this in shallow arti- 
ficial amusements. 

It is important to note that this reversion to 
earlier type in the adult, this relaxation of the 
spirit by return to the more elemental life, does 
not always take the innocent form of what we 
call play. Suppose one has never had a chance 
to play. Suppose one has been driven from 
morning to night with the demand for efficiency. 

51 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Suppose all natural expressions of relaxation 
and freedom are verboten. Then we may have 
war! The Germans did not play, but they re- 
verted all the same, and they, too, took a vaca- 
tion from the strenuous life by once more becom- 
ing elemental. The militaristic group, maybe, 
started it, but it was the German people who 
made it a national war, so eager were they to 
escape their fatigue. They reverted, and their 
reversion brought them to — what we have seen. 
It may be objected that war itself is far more 
wearing than that from which they were en- 
deavouring to escape, but this is not the point. 
War is more primitive, and it is the primitive 
that we crave. Man hunts for wild game, and 
suffers all manner of hardships and dangers, 
but he returns to the wilderness each year, if 
he can but get away from his office. It is not 
a question of the suffering which may ulti- 
mately be realized; it is the call of the wild 
which must be responded to whatever the cost. 
What of the United States? We did not wish 
to fight, and yet we have been counted as pass- 
ing strenuous, too. But we are a play-people, 
and already have more relaxation than we know 
what to do with. 

One hears, today, the pre-war German decried 
as a hypocrite. That gentle friend who made 

52 



OTHER INHERITED DISPOSITIONS 

your life so pleasant in your Berlin days was 
no hypocrite, He was sincerely your friend. 
What happened when he became ill — when he 
broke with the strain, and reverted — was quite 
as unexpected by him as by you. 



53 



CHAPTEE IV 



The Compound Emotions 

I have mentioned pity as a compound of tender 
emotion and sympathy; and moral indignation, 
as a compound of tender emotion and anger. 
These are examples of compound emotions — 
emotions which become possible with the higher 
development of the brain. A fusion of impulses 
is here implied, and for this fusion the associa- 
tion areas of the brain must be highly de- 
veloped. The possibility of forming such com- 
pounds is generally and necessarily lacking in 
early childhood, as it is almost invariably, also, 
in the feeble-minded and in animals. The weak- 
minded mother alternates her emotions, she 
can not fuse them ; she beats her child viciously 
one moment, and hugs it affectionately the next. 
This a matter which must be kept always in 
mind in our dealings with children and with the 
feeble-minded, and — dare I add? — with the 
masses. From them we must be content to re- 

54 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

ceive simple responses ; we must not expect the 
more elaborate complexes possible to the highly 
developed. 

Here, in this process of emotion compounding, 
lie all the finer variations in character. Pity 
is a compound of tender emotion and sympathy, 
but in two persons, and in a thousand, it may 
vary in value, changing always with both the 
actual and relative amounts of its component 
parts. 

Hate, so far as it can be considered a com- 
pound emotion, may be regarded as a com- 
posite of anger, disgust, and fear ; or, possibly, 
instead of the last named, a negative self- 
feeling. But hate is, too, and more properly, 
classed as a sentiment, and will be later con- 
sidered. Disgust unites with positive-feeling, 
and the compound so formed, when exhibited 
before an equal or a superior, we call Scorn; 
whereas the same compound directed against 
an inferior is termed Contempt. Disgust and 
fear produce Horror or Loathmg. 

Wonder, negative self -feeling, and fear, give 
us Awe; negative self -feeling and tender emo- 
tion are important elements in Gratitude; while 
awe and gratitude unite in the emotion of Rev- 
erence. 

Sorrow may be regarded as a painfully toned 
55 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

compound of frustrated tender emotion with 
negative self-feeling. Grief has an element of 
resentment and combined with the frustrated 
tender emotion, we find instead of a negative 
self -feeling as in sorrow, a frustrated positive 
self -feeling. Regret is a looking to the past; 
either a frustrated desire or a reaction from a 
desire which has been yielded to ; while Remorse 
is a regret plus anger — an anger which, being 
directed against self, becomes particularly pain- 
ful as it can find no relief in expression. It 
being the self-regard which is wounded, even 
penance can not satisfy. Reproach is a modi- 
fied moral indignation, consisting, as does the 
latter, of a fusion of anger and tender emotion. 
In reproach, the two emotions are aroused by 
the same object; whereas in moral indignation, 
the tender emotion is directed toward one, 
while the anger is directed toward another who 
threatens that one. Anxiety may be regarded 
as an anticipatory pain combined with tender 
emotion. Revenge arises from a fusion of anger 
and wounded positive self -feeling; or, it may be 
considered as anger restrained by calculation. 
Jealousy is the painful feeling resulting from 
lack of reciprocation — it is an emotion of a 
frustrated sentiment of love where the positive 
self -feeling, egotism, has been a principal com- 

56 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

ponent. In it we find the elements of anxiety, 
revenge, and reproach. 

Bashfulness I have referred to as an alterna- 
tion of positive and negative self-feeling, and it 
is not, therefore, a compound at all ; but Shame 
is an emotional state related to remorse. Mod- 
esty, Courage, Generosity, and Mea/rmess are 
character attributes developed with and within 
the sentiments. 

In this analysis of the compound emotions I 
have followed, largely, McDougall and Eibot, 
but it must be remembered, as has been already 
remarked, that this classifying of the emotions 
is a matter of convenience only and, strictly 
speaking, one of language ; one must not take it 
too seriously. The glandular and other visceral 
origins of these mental affects, which it has 
pleased us to name, will in themselves permit 
of no such arbitrary delimitation. The body 
acts and reacts as a whole, and its flowing waves 
of energy recognize no man-made classification 
— nature does not lend itself to this sort of 
thing. What is important, here, is to recognize 
that from the same elemental reactions which 
are common to man and beast there has grown, 
by the development of areas of association 
within the brain, all the highly complex emo- 
tional possibilities we now know. 

57 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 



Sentiments 

We have passed from simple reflexes to the 
simple emotional reactions, and from these, 
with the increasing powers of association, to 
the compound emotions. The next step in char- 
acter formation is in the development of the 
sentiments.* 

A sentiment may be defined as an organized 
system of emotional dispositions centred about 
the idea of some object. Or, it may be defined 
as an idea with emotional associations and, 
therefore, with emotional values and poten- 
tialities. In the latter sense it is but an elabo- 
ration of the primary and compound emotions 
already considered — the result of association — 
differing only in the strength of the central 
idea, and in the number of emotional tendencies 
which may be stimulated by it. What is an 
idea? Is it not itself the product of elabora- 
tion? From reflex nerve actions which may or 
may not reach consciousness, we pass to those 
which do produce in the brain a characteristic 
sensory affect. By further development a brain 
pattern is formed, a sensory memory results, 
and this, by association, becomes linked with 
other memories until a system is developed. In 

* Compare Professor McDougall's Social Psyclwlogy. 

58 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

this system, once formed, the central pattern 
may be aronsed into activity apparently with- 
out external stimulation. An idea comes to us 
seemingly without reference to any external im- 
pression, but the impression has been there, 
nevertheless; it has come to us through one of 
the associated areas. Thus it is, too, that an 
idea may become stronger in memory than 
it was in its original production, an in- 
creased emotional value having been ob- 
tained by the associations which are subse- 
quently made. See how the memory of an 
insult grows. 

Our conception of the sentiment differs from 
that of the idea only in our orientation toward 
it. The sentiment we find in the complex as 
a whole, existing as a central dominant idea 
with numerous emotional associations ready to 
be awakened, in turn, as occasion demands. Let 
us illustrate. Love and hate are typical senti- 
ments. Here a complex of emotional associa- 
tions, a system, is erected around the idea of 
some individual, making everything that per- 
tains to that individual of emotional value. 
Thus, you love a person, and you experience 
tender emotion in his presence, anxiety when he 
is in danger, anger when he is criticized, joy 
when he prospers, and sorrow when he dies. 

59 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Or, consider the building of a sentiment. A 
child has a violent tempered father, always 
scolding and punishing. At first, the child ex- 
periences fear at each exhibition of bad temper, 
and then only, but gradually the fear comes to 
be aroused by the mere presence of the father — 
a habit of fear has been formed — and, finally, 
the thought of the father is sufficient. This we 
may call a sentiment of fear, with the father as 
the central idea. As the child grows older, and 
new associations are made, it comes to experi- 
ence, in addition to the fear, anger, disgust, and 
resentment. The child has now acquired a 
sentiment of hate. 

It is interesting to note that a sentiment will 
determine the value of all experiences which 
come to us in association with it. A girl 
" hates' ' a dress in which she has once been a 
wall-flower. We dislike a person — lie utters 
some opinion — instantly we dislike that opin- 
ion. We like a person — he utters the same 
opinion — we are at once all interest and recep- 
tive attention. 

We are, in fact, largely ruled by our senti- 
ments, and therefore it is that when one limited 
sentiment becomes dominant in our lives, as it 
may, our judgments cease to be valuable. So it 
is that enthusiasts, fanatics, and all one-idea 

60 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

people are worthless as counsellors. When 
David Copperfield fell in love with Dora, Dora 
became the central idea about which he ranged 
all his emotions. A dominant Dora sentiment 
came into existence. He lived, breathed, 
dreamed, and ate Dora. The minister preached, 
and it was about Dora. At his work in the Com- 
mons, it was Dora, not the judge, who presided. 
He was steeped in Dora, saturated through and 
through with Dora. "Enough love," he says, 
"might have been wrung out of me, metaphori- 
cally speaking, to drown everybody in ; and yet 
there would have remained enough within me 
and all over me, to pervade my whole exist- 
ence.' ' And Dora, we know, was but a feeble- 
minded child! 

From these extreme experiences in mortal 
love — alas! — there is generally an awakening. 
With the satisfaction of the senses there is a 
gradual disintegration of the sentimental com- 
plex; older associations come back into play, 
and judgment of value again finally asserts it- 
self. On the other hand, with love that is 
worthily placed, and, also, with love that can 
not attain to its object (with mortal love some- 
times, but more frequently with devotion to the 
unattainable divine) the sentiment may become 
permanent and remain the dominant control 

61 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

throughout life. Witness the lives of the 
saints. 

As we know, all sentiments are not, unfortu- 
nately, so pleasant as is that of love. Where 
fear and anger enter in, the sentiment is both 
unpleasant and harmful. If a sentiment of this 
type obtain control, the results are often serious 
both to health and to one's social enjoyments. 
The boy who has acquired a sentiment of hate 
for his father may extend this to include all 
those who resemble his father, and then to all 
men, and, finally, to all people. The end result 
is a misanthrope, or a recluse. 

The sentiments, it will be noted, are all emo- 
tionally induced; they are complexes of emo- 
tions, and are, therefore, unreasonable things 
which may operate, as we have seen, either for 
good or for bad. Happiness consists in having 
only well-ordered, non-conflicting, perfectly 
compatible sentiments, from which the destruc- 
tive emotions of fear and anger have been elimi- 
nated. Joy and happiness may be regarded as 
the mental sensing of this smooth harmonious 
brain action, just as pleasure is that which is 
felt in the physiological gratification of the 
minor impulses. 

Intellectually, of course, we may have a cer- 
tain degree of control over our sentiments, and 

62 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

we speak of a "well-balanced person," mean- 
ing, generally, one so endowed. But life 's prob- 
lems are many, and, to the acute observations 
of the highly cultivated man, life's experiences 
are no simple thing to adjust. Compromise 
only is possible — compromise and intellectual 
command. Hence it is that happiness, light- 
hearted happiness, is rare in the world's great 
men. This is a state which can be attained by 
them, it would seem, only after a retrograde 
process, a process of elimination — a conversion, 
which is really a reversion. Here is a going 
back to child-like simplicity — "of such only is 
the Kingdom of Heaven." In this process of 
conversion a man who has gradually erected a 
religious sentiment suddenly awakens to a 
realization that this sentiment has become large 
enough for him to live entirely within. He then 
rejects the past and the old, forsakes all his 
former external, conflicting associations, sub- 
stitutes trust for fear, and eliminates anger, 
and from now on leads a new, more limited, 
but entirely harmonious and, therefore, happy 
life. 

The greatest happiness is, as has been said, 
when all the sentiments are in harmonious rela- 
tion, but a degree of happiness is possible, too, 
when dominant sentiments only have been so 

63 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

correlated — when the things we most care about 
have been erected into a harmonious whole. 
This being accomplished we can well afford to 
ignore the lesser experiences should these be- 
come annoying. A mind so ordered, when real 
losses do come, experiences sorrow rather than 
grief — and then it is that the less endowed of 
us wonder at the beauty of their quiet resigna- 
tion. What with us would give rise to grief 
and resentment, with them, having no anger 
nor fear in their hearts, arouses no evil con- 
flict at all. Here is the happiness of simple- 
minded strongly religious people. To these 
well unified personalities, with their gentler 
emotions all oriented into one dominant whole, 
with fear and anger excluded, distresses may 
come — pain, martyrdom even, but, entering 
into their beatified sentiment toward God, these 
evil things lose all of their force. 

In regard to the valuation of sentiments, we 
must remember, as with the emotions in gen- 
eral, that all is not said when a name has been 
given, nor even, in these complex systems of 
emotions, when we specify their component 
parts. The value is dependent rather upon the 
proportionate amounts of these parts, and upon 
their relative strengths. Thus an infinite varia- 
tion in value is possible for each and every sen- 

64 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

timent of man. For instance, positive self -feel- 
ing, desirably present in many sentiments, may 
in some, by becoming unduly prominent, take 
away all social worth. In love, for example, a 
strong egotistic emotion, revealing itself in 
pride of possession, in gratified ownership, as 
well as in jealousy, may rob the sentiment of 
all of its beauty. Here we have the father who 
loves his son so long as he can take pride in the 
son's accomplishments, but who becomes impa- 
tient and intolerant at failure. As we have it 
in Proverbs, "The father of a fool hath no 
joy." The mother, with her stronger strain of 
tender emotion, cares little for the boy's fail- 
ures ; indeed she rather inclines to the weakling 
as more needing her care. 

I say the emotion of positive self -feeling may 
rob a sentiment of all social value, and yet, 
among the more conspicuously useful senti- 
ments we have that of self-regard, a sentiment 
actually built round self as the central idea. 
Here we have a sentiment which in its simplest 
form is purely selfish, but which has been ex- 
tended in one way or another until it has 
mounted to the highest reaches of altruism. 
The idea of self has enlarged until it has em- 
braced the family, the home, the group, and the 
nation, and, finally, the whole of mankind, 

65 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Within this sentiment, then, there is a long 
range of values depending on its form and de- 
velopment. Here we find the individual egotist, 
the family man, the patriot, and the philan- 
thropist. And, again, the values vary with the 
persistence with which the original egotism sur- 
vives through these steps of altruistic growth. 
With strong egotism the family man may be 
simply a man who is inordinately vain of his 
family; the patriot may be that useless and 
dangerous citizen who sees nothing but good in 
his own country, and nothing but bad in others ; 
and the philanthropist may be one whose incen- 
tive is, secretly, a love of popular approval. 

The sentiment, then, is highly complex and 
for its formation, as has already been said, a 
very considerable brain development is essen- 
tial. In the child and in the feeble-minded, with 
their slight powers of association, there can be 
but few and very imperfect sentiments ; as there 
can be, also, as we have already seen, but few 
even of the compound emotions. The child and 
the imbecile are constantly changing their atti- 
tudes — miserable one moment and happy the 
next, responding always to what the present 
may offer. Instead of fusions and well oriented 
systems we find only alternations of the simple 
emotions. Bear this fact in mind and you will 

66 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

not be surprised at the crude reactions one so 
frequently meets with in inferior mentalities. 
Goddard tells of a murderer who was more con- 
cerned over a debt of sixty cents which was 
owing him, than he was over his impending 
punishment. He tells, too, of a feeble-minded 
woman who after relating the recent loss of her 
three children, all within a period of two weeks, 
added, "That's going some, ain't it!" 

This "callous" criminal and this "cold- 
hearted" mother are simply examples of indi- 
viduals whose brains have not developed to the 
degree where elaborate associations and senti- 
ments have become possible. With this mother 
there was no sentiment of love, and hence no 
possibility of sorrow. Tender emotion there 
may have been, but for the exhibition of this the 
children must actually have been present. With 
the criminal, in the case cited, there was the 
same lack of sentiment formation, the same 
child-like absorption in the present — but the 
criminality itself, of course, is not to be taken 
as any evidence of deficiency. Again, senti- 
ments may exist but they may be bad ones. 
There are those of whom it has been said that, 
like the crab, having made sure they are right, 
they go ahead for all they are worth — sideways. 
With the man — not the crab — faulty education 

67 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

and bad environment are here generally re- 
sponsible. 

I have mentioned only love, hate, the re- 
ligions sentiment, and the self -regarding senti- 
ment, but sentiments may be built within any of 
the spheres of life's activities — in science, 
music, art, and studies; in the acquisition of 
wealth and position, in business, and in the 
social world. "Whatever the field the process is 
the same. We advance from the primary emo- 
tion to the compound, and from this to the sen- 
timent, all by the forming of more and more 
brain patterns, more and more associations, 
and, then, by gradually orienting these into 
homogeneous groups. Out of the complexity 
and confusion of life we thus again approach 
order and harmony by regimenting our thou- 
sands of experiences into one or more systems, 
each gathered around some central idea. 

Temperament 

The innate dispositions so far mentioned are 
those dependent upon brain association and, 
ultimately, upon the possession of definite brain 
patterns. One other inheritance we have, and 
this is our temperament. Here we are con- 
cerned, not with patterns, but with the general 
health and vitality of the body, and, especially, 



THE COMPOUND EMOTIONS 

with the condition of the nerves, the nerve cells 
and the glands. The temperament, then, may 
be thought of as the soil in which the pathways 
of disposition are laid down. 

Back in the second century, Galen wrote of 
the four humours of the body — the blood, the 
phlegm, the yellow bile, and the black. Our lan- 
guage still perpetuates Galen, and we now speak 
of the sanguine, the phlegmatic, the choleric, 
and the melancholic — the warm-blooded, the 
dull, the irritable, and the sentimentally sad. 

Here we have mankind divided into groups, 
characteristic and isolated, in that they have no 
mutual understanding. From all time the san- 
guine have been hitting the phlegmatic on the 
back, and telling them to wake up. The choleric 
tell the sanguine that they are altogether too 
amiable, and, in their hearts, think them shal- 
low and frivolous. The phlegmatic wish the 
others would leave them alone ; and all together 
unite in an effort to cheer up the melancholic. 
No, not all! The phlegmatic don't care. And 
so it is, each group regards the others with 
mixed feelings, but in these there is always a 
something of criticism. 

Transient temperamental changes may be 
produced by transient physical conditions. Ill- 
ness may alter the whole mental atmosphere ; as 

69 - 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

witness the choleric and melancholic states set 
up by the liver. That whether life is worth 
living depends on the liver, is often profoundly 
true. Melancholy, the black bile of the ancients, 
is often a liver disease, and may exhibit itself in 
all degrees of dejection down to absolute hope- 
lessness and suicide. 

Character 

Let us sum up all that has gone before, and 
arrive at a definition of character. 

The disposition, we have found, is the sum of 
our innate tendencies. The temperament is the 
result of our nervous, glandular, and other or- 
ganic vitalities. The character is the sum of 
the innate dispositions, plus the physiologically 
determined temperament, plus the sum of all 
the acquired tendencies. It is the product of 
the interaction of the disposition and tempera- 
ment with the environment. 

Here at last we have something which seems 
in some degree modifiable. With the two in- 
herited factors we have now one that is ac- 
quired, and which, we shall find, leads us away 
from the emotions, and into the intellectual 
field. We go back to a consideration of brain 
patterns, but principally now to those which we 
make for ourselves. 

70 



CHAPTER V 

HABIT 

It was said, when first speaking of brain pat- 
terns, that a nerve force flowing over a certain 
path produces some change in the nerve cells 
which renders that path more easily traversed 
by a subsequent current. In this lies the begin- 
ning of a habit. It is the brain pattern, once 
more, viewed now from but a slightly different 
angle. Suppose the nerve current again and 
again to traverse the same path — it flows with 
greater and greater ease, it cuts, as it were, a 
deeper and deeper channel, until, what probably 
in the beginning required a deliberate and con- 
scious effort, comes, finally, to be performed 
automatically. Suppose a certain action in- 
volves a series of steps, A, B, C, D, E, F — the 
first time this act was performed each step in- 
volved thought and decision, but with each repe- 
tition the effort becomes less until, finally, the 
steps are taken quite unconsciously. All that is 
necessary from now on is to set A going — B 
naturally follows, then C, and so on to the com- 
pletion at F. 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

As one need hardly remark, habit formation 
is of great importance in life; so important, in 
fact, that life can not well be conceived of with- 
out it. Walking, eating, and dressing, and 
speech itself are habit processes — which, for- 
tunately for us, we do not easily depart from 
nor forget. When we do, when through brain 
disturbances these early formed paths become 
obliterated, the life of the patient is a veritable 
misery. These are essential habits, but in all 
of our waking day habits of one kind or another 
play a large part in making our lives both easy 
and possible. Our movements become both 
facile and automatic, and our attention, being 
thus released from the necessity of their de- 
tailed control, is free to turn itself elsewhere. 
Conscious attention to any detail is fatiguing — 
become conscious of the mechanism of walking, 
and see how far you can go! The principal 
cause of the fatigue of neurasthenia is simply 
that in this disease all acts become more or 
less conscious and have to be thought out. 

Habits, then, simplify life. They help, also, 
in many other ways. We know, for instance, 
that certain acts are easy enough at certain 
times, but are performed unwillingly at others ; 
it is then that habit steps in to make them more 
possible. It is largely habit that carries a 

72 



HABIT 

woman through her housework when fatigued. 
It is often habit that takes a man to his office 
when he would rather stay at home. It is habit 
that preserves discipline and co-ordinated 
movement in the soldier during the stress of 
battle ; and it was to form this so requisite habit 
that the long months of drill were necessary. 

Habit training constitutes the very essence of 
education. When one considers that even one 
passage of the nerve force over a certain path- 
way tends to make that pathway more easily 
traversed a second time, giving it an advantage 
over all other pathways, it becomes evident that 
habit formation belongs properly to the period 
of childhood. If a child be permitted to grow 
up forming its nerve pathways by accident and 
by impulse, it will be ever at a disadvantage, 
for the bad habits so formed will probably per- 
sist throughout life. James says: "Could the 
young but realize how soon they will become a 
walking bundle of habits, they would give more 
heed to their conduct while in the plastic state. ' ' 
Alas ! If youth but would, or if age but could ! 
Since the child will not so realize, the duty of 
the parents becomes clear. What a fatal atti- 
tude it is to constantly excuse bad habits with, 
"He is only a child, ,, as though when he grew 
older the habit could easily be broken ! Some 

73 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

one has said that a habit "is a sort of gimlet; 
every year gives it another turn. To pull it out 
the first year is like plucking out the hair by the 
roots ; in the second year, like tearing the skin ; 
in the third, like breaking the bones ; and in the 
fourth, like removing the very brain itself. ' ' 

What are some of the elements in deliberate 
habit formation 1 Give full attention to the act, 
making as deep an impression as is possible 
upon the nerve cells ; truly desire, truly want to 
do the thing right ; then act at once and repeat 
regularly. Make, thus, a close association be- 
tween the act and the intention, and repeat even 
when inconvenient. On the other hand, habits 
are deliberately broken by analyzing them and 
bringing their successive steps back into con- 
sciousness ; and then, by focusing the attention 
upon the earlier steps and establishing for these 
new inhibitions and associations. Thus, in the 
habitual act involving steps A, B, C, B, E, and 
F \ focus the attention on A, or B, inhibit these 
beginnings, or establish for them a new asso- 
ciation in the mind. Let A now come habitually 
to suggest X, not B, thus diverting the current 
at its inception into an entirely new path. The 
new association, X, may be anything you please, 
anything you may find practically useful — the 
thought of a sacrifice with which you may have 

74 



HABIT 

penalized yourself should you yield to the origi- 
nal impulse (James tells of a man who broke a 
saloon habit by offering fifty dollars to any one 
who should see him in a saloon) , or, it may be, 
a prayer, or a promise to one's mother, or 
to one's own personal honour; or merely some 
diverting physical interruption, such as a walk- 
ing round the room, or the square. Whatever 
you do, remember that when you content your- 
self with saying that you "won't count this 
time" you are, thereby, beginning the worst 
habit of all, namely, that of disregarding your 
good resolutions. 

Socially, habit forms the basis of much of our 
more conservative behaviour. By it change is 
resisted and institutions perpetuated. It has, 
however, many vagaries as regards usefulness. 
In its persisting tendency it may long survive 
its original purpose, and what was once a good 
habit may become in the course of time either 
indifferent or harmful. Here we find the ex- 
planation of much of our ceremony, and here, 
too, both in ceremony and elsewhere, is the tend- 
ency to confuse the means with the end. An act 
begins, for instance, as a symbol of worship ; it 
ends by itself becoming the one important fact. 
A man starts out to save money to provide for 
his old age, but the saving never ceases and the 

75 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

man slaves until his death. The housewife 
cleans her home that it may be more attractive 
and comfortable, but she never stops cleaning, 
and comfort departs. 

Books have been written on this subject which 
I am treating so casually. I know of none other 
more important to comfort, to happiness, and 
to usefulness in life. Dallas Lore Sharp has 
said that we come to college with all of our 
educational clothing on, and that the college 
faculty just buttons it up and adjusts it. Let us 
paraphrase Professor Sharp — habit is clothing, 
as the word suggests — is it not equally true that 
we enter manhood with all of our habits on, 
and spend the rest of life trying to adjust them? 

All of this, as I have said, is a matter of the 
brain pattern, and, in one sense, has a relation 
to instinct, using the latter term in the popular, 
loose way. Habit has been denned as an ac- 
quired instinct, and instinct, as an inherited 
habit — if we replace instinct, here, by disposi- 
tion, then the statement may well be allowed to 
stand. The inherited disposition is an in- 
herited brain pattern, or at least a potential 
pattern, one especially apt of development. 
The habit is the pattern, either acquired or 
inherited, made real and effective by use. 



76 



CHAPTER VI 

MEMOEY 

Once more we examine the brain pattern, but 
now from the standpoint of the mental record, 
rather than from that of the act it leads to, the 
habit. As this last, the habit, was found to 
be at the root of all life's performances, so 
memory is the foundation of all mental proc- 
esses. Furthermore, while it is convenient to 
distinguish between the mental reaction and the 
act, it must also be remembered that many per- 
formed acts are themselves but physical ex- 
hibitions of memory. Both depend upon the 
brain or nerve pattern, and we may truthfully 
state that from the simplest act to the most 
complex thought our facility depends upon our 
ability to remember. It depends upon our 
ability to dip down into our minds and there 
find, more or less consciously, a brain pattern 
which shall be useful in the solution of the 
problem before us. Whether this problem be a 
whistling for the dog, or the forming of a judg- 

77 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ment on internationalism, we require for its 
solution a power of recalling appropriate brain 
patterns. 

A good memory, then, consists essentially in 
the possession of many well-marked brain pat- 
terns, with the ability to bring these patterns 
into action as needed. The process is a double 
one — a process of recording, and a process of 
recovery, but the physiological nature of these 
two steps is similar. The making of the record 
depends upon (1) the physiological endowment 
of the brain — the development and impressi- 
bility of the neurons, and the length of time an 
impression tends to remain; (2) the manner of 
making the impression, its emphasis; and, (3) 
the number of associations which we can gather 
around it. The first of these factors is deter- 
mined by nature and must vary in different in- 
dividuals. That some will have brain cells 
which more easily receive and retain im- 
pressions than do those of others seems evi- 
dent ; and that some will have brain cells where 
others have none, seems also evident. Fully 
developed cells which easily receive and retain 
all impressions are what constitute a "good 
natural memory." But this matter of physio- 
logical endowment is only one of the factors, 
and the others, as being more within our control 

78 



MEMORY 

should interest us the more. It is through these 
other factors that we must seek improvement 
in memory. The physiological endowment is 
a set limitation ; it is only by improved method 
that we can hope for betterment. The situation 
is analogous to the training of the victim of in- 
fantile paralysis — the destroyed nerves here set 
the limits to what can be gained, but, by the 
training, the patient may be taught to use what 
he has to better advantage. 

A good impression implies emphasis, and em- 
phasis is obtained by attention, and attention 
may be either a deliberate act of the "will," or 
it may be the result of that inclination and 
"willingness" which we call interest. Atten- 
tion, from a physiological standpoint, we may 
describe as a flow of nerve force, neurokyme, 
into one certain pattern, or group of related 
patterns, to the exclusion of all others. Thus, 
we "give attention" with our eyes, activating a 
visual centre in our brain, refusing to divert the 
gaze, and refusing to "pay attention" to the 
pictures presenting in the marginal visual 
fields. We are reading, for instance, and we 
keep our eyes directed to the page; we try to 
avoid seeing what is going on around us; and 
we "close our ears" to the sound of talking. 
The brain areas stimulated are those of vision 

79 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

and of visual word images, the auditory images 
corresponding to these, and the association 
areas of thought and reason also related. There 
is also a leakage of the nerve force into the 
motor areas associated with the more familiar 
speech, and with some, to whom reading is an 
infrequent occupation, the lips will move, as the 
words are silently articulated. Assisting these 
perception and association areas are the motor 
areas which hold and secure our best, most ap- 
propriate, and most comfortable body posi- 
tions ; so that we may see well and not be dis- 
tracted by sensations of fatigue nor of unneces- 
sary effort. This motor reinforcement of our 
perception areas is especially evident when we 
are listening with attention to a speaker. We 
are intent upon his words, we directly face him 
that the sound may enter both ears equally, or 
we "give him our good ear," if we have but 
one; we want to see him that we may gain all 
possible visual aid to our hearing and under- 
standing — that aid which comes from reading 
the unspoken language of gesture and facial ex- 
pression. We gaze at him, and often slightly 
bend forward, both to get nearer and, also, be- 
cause this position is an instinctive expression 
of interest, and of a readiness to act. We sit 
very still ; we may even hold the breath. When 

80 



MEMORY 

we can not see the speaker, and wish very much 
to hear him, we sometimes close our eyes, thus 
cutting off the visual impressions which have 
now become irrelevant to the matter in hand. 
The whole process is one of activating just 
such, and only such, brain patterns as are asso- 
ciated, pertinent, and useful. 

Idle tapping of the fingers, or the making of 
other useless movements, roving eyes, and in- 
terest in extraneous sounds, all these are, of 
course, evidence of lack of attention. Says 
Schopenhauer: "I feel respect for the man who 
when he is waiting or sitting unoccupied re- 
frains from rattling anything, or beating time 
— the probability is that he is thinking of some- 
thing." Attention requires energy and as we 
have just so much energy available, it must be 
conserved, not dissipated. Hippomenes, Ata- 
lanta, and the golden apples is a fable which 
applies. 

The concentration of seeing and hearing, and 
the limitation of movement, will naturally go 
far in bringing about a concentration of 
thought. The idle thoughts which divert us 
during study are largely those which have been 
touched into being by the impressions, or stim- 
uli, brought to us by our wandering sight and 
hearing. The filling of a boy 's study room with 

81 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

souvenirs of his camping trips and of his ath- 
letic strivings, is thus adding psychologically 
to his difficulties. Exclude these pleasant stim- 
uli and foreign thoughts will not so often in- 
trude. 

Where there is interest in the subject before 
us attention is easily given, but where interest 
is lacking attention is attained to with difficulty. 
A boy is trying to study — he is not interested; 
he does not care whether the Ukraine is a coun- 
try or a musical instrument, it rather sounds 
to him like the latter, and he does not care 
whether the Volga flows into the Caspian Sea 
or the British Channel — an automobile passes, 
he pricks up his ears, it sounds like a Ford. 
He wishes that he had a Ford — then he remem- 
bers the way Douglas, in the moving pictures 
yesterday, skipped down the mountain canon in 
that machine of his. He would like to do that, 
especially if a certain girl he could (but won't) 
mention was looking on — the Volga flows south, 
and southwesterly — no, southeasterly, into the 
Caspian Sea — what actress is it whose name 
sounds like Volga f Oh yes, now he remembers, 
he saw her in New York — and so on to the end 
of the study period. How different when the 
interest is engaged! This same boy who can 
not possibly remember the height of Mount 

82 



MEMORY 

Everest will tell you the batting averages 
of all the leading players in both of the 
Leagues. 

When one is not naturally interested, an 
earnest effort should be made to concentrate — 
an earnest, persistent, continued and repeated 
effort — but one should, also, try to discover in- 
terests, even where these do not at first seem 
possible. Interest is largely a matter of get- 
ting a thing into some sort of relation to one's 
self. Suppose a boy is keen about military af- 
fairs, all European geography and history can 
be made to appeal. Suppose he is interested in 
aviation, or in automobiles, the study of physics 
may become a pleasure. The successful teacher 
will discover these interests, these true points 
of contact with the boy's life and ambitions, and 
will handle the school studies so as to develop 
them; but the relations must be actually 
pointed out, or the average boy will miss them 
altogether. Boys have cubby-hole minds, each 
subject is placed religiously by itself; school 
and his own natural interests are most cer- 
tainly invariably separated. He can not well 
conceive of any real interest getting over into 
the school compartment. He repells the very 
idea. He may "in private life" be deeply in- 
terested in gas engines, and yet find physics a 

83 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

bore — physics belongs to school, it must be a 
bore, the logic is conclusive ! 

The interest of self-advantage, the rewards 
of success in examinations and of knowledge 
stored for use in the future, makes but a poor 
incentive to study. A boy is concerned only 
with the present advantages, not with the 
future, and this thing he has heard, anyway, 
until he is heartily tired of its sound. It is a 
too frequent resort of the lazy teacher, and is 
practically useless. 

Finally, however, be it noted, there is an in- 
terest, a real one, which comes with knowledge. 
If we can but hold to a task until we really know 
something of it, the rest will be easy. The 
trouble with a boy is that he thinks he knows 
it all before he has attained to the first little 
beginning. 

We have apparently digressed from the mat- 
ter of memory, but all this has to do with the 
formation of that first requisite of the process, 
the brain impression. Interest and attention 
must always remain the principal factors in the 
making of this impression. Concentration and 
interest applying directly to the pattern being 
registered, together with a reinforcement by 
associations, gives us our best mental records. 
The associated interests entangle, as it were, 

84 



MEMORY 

the otherwise uninteresting fact, making it a 
part of an interesting system, or complex, and 
thus hold it in mind. 

Where emphasis can not be obtained by in- 
terest, either direct or indirect, attention may 
be aided, and emphasis secured, by a sort of 
pictorial representation of the matter in hand. 
But before illustrating this idea, let me refer 
briefly to the second part of the memory proc- 
ess, the act of remembering. 

If we assume a recorded brain pattern, re- 
membering consists in directing to this pattern 
a nerve force of sufficient strength to again 
waken it into activity. Close attention may 
again be necessary. We are now concerned 
with that which is within, so we close our 
eyes, "shut our ears," and sit very still, 
as we grope around in our minds — to do 
what? Either to find directly the pattern 
sought, or to get hold of something which will 
lead us to it. Practically it is almost invariably 
by the second method, by associations, that we 
do finally arrive at the desired pattern, and the 
more associations there are, the greater the 
number of connecting threads, the more likely 
we are in our gropings to find what we want. 
The evil of cramming lies in this, that, while by 
concentrated study brain impressions can be 

85 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

made, these impressions, not having been ori- 
ented and associated with other brain patterns, 
remain isolated, and soon sink beyond the pos- 
sibility of recovery. Forgetting, then, consists 
essentially in not having a sufficient number of 
associations by which a fact may be recalled. 
Remembering wrongly is quite another matter. 
Here, associations are made, but they are wrong 
ones — they are the products largely of an uncon- 
scious mental action which has been determined 
by some form of prejudice. 

Let us apply some of these concepts of the 
memory function. I have mentioned the pictur- 
ing of a fact which we desire to remember — this, 
and the formation of appropriate associations, 
are the simple and practical aids. One man ties 
a knot in his handkerchief to help him remem- 
ber to call up Smith on reaching his office. An- 
other has a string tied to his finger by his wife 
that he may not forget to bring home the candy. 
These are artificial associations deliberately 
formed. The ancient Peruvians kept all man- 
ner of elaborate records by means of knots 
(quipus) tied in cords of divers colours. Pic- 
torial representation and association are, in one 
way or another, at the root of all " memory 
systems,' ' these being really only more or less 

86 



MEMORY 

intelligent conscious exaggerations of the nor- 
mal brain processes. 

Picture what you want to remember; make 
a vivid picture; make it large, caricature it if 
necessary. To take a few very simple examples 
— you always forget whether witil has two Vs 
or one. Picture the word printed large on a 
sheet of paper, with two Z's, and then picture a 
heavy black line drawn through the last one. 
You always forget whether tendency has two 
e's, or an e and an a. Picture the word on 
paper, with a very large E in the second place. 
You want to remember the date of the union of 
Scotland with England — think of the boundary 
of the two countries, and then picture a great 
sign, like a modern advertising sign, with the 
figures 16 3 stretching across. 

You may also usefully combine your pictured 
fact with certain simple associations which you 
know will naturally come to mind at the time 
the fact will be needed. You have an examina- 
tion tomorrow and you want to remember the 
date of the fall of the Bastile — picture the 
blackboard which you will then sit facing, and 
picture upon it, in large figures, the date, 1789. 
When you face that blackboard on the morrow 
the date will be there, in a mental association 
with it. You are to stop on your way home, to 

87 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

get a can of tomatoes — picture to yourself a 
mammoth can of tomatoes on the pavement in 
front of the grocery. You will find that you 
can not pass the spot without the picture recur- 
ring to you. Associate a certain mail-box, one 
you are to pass, with the letter now in your 
pocket, and you will mail the letter when you 
come to the box. Many a mail carrier has been 
converted into a postman by this simple plan. 

These suggestions may sound trivial and arti- 
ficial, but they are neither, they are but adapta- 
tions of nature's own way. You go into the 
next room to get something, and you forget 
what you went for, so you come back to where 
you were sitting when you formed the wish ; you 
there pick up some unconscious thread of asso- 
ciation, and now you remember. Why not then 
make deliberate, conscious associations round 
the fact to be remembered, associations such as 
shall be likely to come to mind when needed? 
The picture, too, is a nature method ; we doubt- 
less do naturally form these pictures within our 
minds — why not then do so deliberately! You 
are to learn Gray's " Elegy." Picture the 
scenes as they develop in the poem ; picture the 
tolling bell, picture the herd coming slowly over 
the lea, picture the ploughman plodding toward 
his home, picture the gathering twilight — make 

88 



MEMORY 

the poem real, not a mere succession of words ; 
you will remember it the better, and it will have 
acquired new values. 

In remembering a long list of items, associate 
them in pairs. You are to remember certain 
things, A, B, C, D, and E — things to do, things 
to say, points of an address, things to get. Re- 
member A and B in relation to each other, mak- 
ing a picture of them together; then, B and C, 
in relation to each other in another picture, dis- 
tinct from the last ; then C and D, in like man- 
ner; and then D and E; each time dropping the 
previous combination, and not bothering with 
the next until you come to it. Look now around 
the room and associate a series of objects in this 
way. You will find that in a few moments you 
can memorize, say, twenty objects, which series 
you can repeat forward or backward without 
any difficulty. 

Another application of this same " chain as- 
sociation" is to link up our items to be remem- 
bered with the units of some other series 
already known and easily recalled. For in- 
stance, you know well the arrangement of your 
room — think of the things in it in a certain 
order. Starting at the door, we will say we 
have — a chair, a table, the bed, an electric light, 
the bureau, a shelf of books, and so on. You 

89 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

have a number of errands to be remembered. 
Associate these errands with the objects in 
your room, in the order named. You are to go 
down town and want to buy a hat, an umbrella, 
a pad of writing paper, and some pencils ; and 
you want to order a taxi for the evening, and 
you want to get tickets for the theatre. Asso- 
ciate the hat with the chair; make a mental 
picture of the hat on the chair. The umbrella 
you picture on the table; the pad of paper, on 
the bed ; the pencils you hang from the electric 
light. The taxi you represent in miniature on 
your bureau, and the tickets you see sticking 
out from your books on the shelf. When you go 
to town recall the chair, the table, the bed, etc., 
to mind — the associations you have made with 
these will come too, you can not escape them. 
One of the "systems'' of memory now being 
largely advertised is founded on this principle, 
which it has developed most skilfully. 

In most of what has been said I have assumed 
the usual visual type of memory. Some of us, 
however, remember better by hearing than by 
seeing, and will, therefore, have to adapt the 
foregoing suggestions ; using, as it were, audi- 
tory pictures, or auditory and visual combined. 
I speak of types — as a matter of fact where the 
visual memory is bad the auditory is generally 

90 



MEMORY 

bad also, but some do show a preference, and it 
is upon this preference that the idea of i ' types ' ' 
has been based. Khymes are useful aids to 
these "auditory memories," as they are, in- 
deed, to all — for how otherwise could we re- 
member the number of days in the month? 

Just a word as to partial memories, they pre- 
sent some interesting features. A recorded pat- 
tern may receive a slight stimulation, and yet 
not be excited to full activity. The effect to us 
is that of a near-remembering, a sensation per- 
fectly true to the physiological fact. We may 
be seeking a name — it is, we say, on the tip of 
the tongue. Here the desired brain pattern has 
been partially stimulated, but not sufficiently so 
to bring it into full consciousness. Had it not 
been stimulated at all we would have had no 
such sense of impending knowledge ; while had 
it been fully stimulated the knowledge would 
have been complete. We enter a room for the 
first time, and suddenly there comes to us a 
sense of knowing the room, of having been there 
before. Here is a partially stimulated memory, 
for what has happened is that something in the 
room has suggested some other room we have 
known. The suggestion is, however, not vivid 
enough to fully recall that room to our minds ; 
it only partially so recalls it, and we get as the 

91 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

result nothing but a vague sense of familiarity. 
If the likeness and association and resulting 
memory are vividly real, then we say at once, 
"Oh, this looks like So-and-so's room!" This 
phenomenon is not an evidence of a wandering 
of our spirit, nor of a former incarnation. 

Physiologically and psychologically, memory 
is a comparatively simple process — it is be- 
cause of its practical importance that I have 
given it so much space. Important in itself, 
it is, also, the foundation of most of our other 
mental processes. "Without it, for example, 
imagination would be impossible. We can not 
imagine that which we do not know. We can 
not imagine a new colour, nor a new sound, nor 
a new anything; we can only rearrange such 
patterns as we already possess, and thus make 
new combinations out of our memory store. 
The highest mental process of all, thought itself, 
is dependent upon the memories available. 



92 



CHAPTER VII 

KNOWLEDGE AND INTELLIGENCE 

Knowledge, if we assume intelligence, depends 
upon opportunity. It is in the nature of an 
accomplishment. Intelligence is a matter of 
capacity, and depends upon the inheritance of 
brain cells, upon their development, and espe- 
cially upon their development in the pathways 
of association. In these days of increasing de- 
mands upon the individual in the competition of 
life, it has come to be recognized that the intelli- 
gence is the factor of moment. Knowledge is 
secondary and, if lacking, may be easily pro- 
vided. The old knowledge tests of society and 
the schools are now felt to be inadequate. What 
we want to know is, not how many facts an in- 
dividual has managed to accumulate, but his 
attitude toward these facts, and his ability to 
make them useful. We wish to know his power 
and quickness in making mental adjustments, 
his keenness of perception — in short, his under- 
standing. 

So has been born the Intelligence Test — the 
Binet Test— a test not of knowledge, but of 

93 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

mental adaptability, and of mental efficiency. 
Knowledge and experience are eliminated so 
far as is possible. It has not been a simple 
problem, and the tests as we have them today 
are far from perfect, but it is an important 
move, and in the right direction. The ideal 
is to obtain a series of standards by which the 
child or the adult may be accurately graded, as 
normal, subnormal, or superior. If not normal, 
the degree of abnormality should be possible of 
determination and record. So far, the tests are 
of little value other than in childhood, and it 
may easily be that this limitation will remain. 
With adults the old mental tests and the new 
intelligence tests, having made all due allow- 
ance for conditions, will be found to yield fairly 
parallel results, and the importance of the in- 
telligence test here seems to rest simply in its 
broader application and in its freedom from de- 
pendence upon the particular kind of knowledge 
each individual may happen to possess. Oppor- 
tunity for acquiring knowledge is now so uni- 
versal that failure to avail one 's self of it is, in 
itself, evidence of deficient intelligence. With 
the child the problem is different, and here the 
intelligence test has proved of real value. 

By the examination of many thousands of 
children, it has been determined what may be 

H 



KNOWLEDGE AND INTELLIGENCE 

reasonably expected from a child of any given 
age. The child that departs considerably from 
this average expectation is regarded as ab- 
normal — a child of fifteen, for instance, who can 
attain only to the expected average for a child 
of eleven is counted defective. This classifica- 
tion, of course, can not be a hard and fast one, 
it being obvious that allowances must be made 
for differences in rate of development, as well 
as for the influence of various extraneous 
factors. Children over nine years of age are, 
therefore, not counted defective unless they 
rank in intelligence at least three years behind 
their chronological age; while children under 
nine are so considered when but two years be- 
hind. It has been found convenient to classify 
and name those defectives with an intelligence 
age below two, as idiots; those with an intelli- 
gence of between three and seven, as imbeciles; 
and those who range from eight to twelve, as 
morons. But note that this classification is for 
convenience only; there are no actual dividing 
lines. From the drivelling idiot to the master 
mind one passes by insensible gradations. 

These defectives, it will be remembered, are 
all cases of too early cessation of growth in the 
association areas of the brain. Possibly from 
some severe illness in infancy, but generally 

95 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

from some primary lack in the vital urge, the 
impulse toward continued development within 
the brain is lost, sometimes suddenly, but in 
others, and more frequently, after a slowing 
down stage which may cover several years. 
Thus a child may be normal to five years of 
age, and then the development may begin to lag, 
until at eight he may have attained to a mental 
growth of but six. He has spent three years in 
advancing one — and he may go no further, he 
may remain at six, and be classed henceforth 
as a high-grade imbecile. I have spoken of pri- 
mary lack of the vital urge, and of severe ill- 
ness in infancy. In the case of the latter, one 
generally thinks of inflammatory disease of the 
brain itself, but it should be noted that there 
are many cases of mental retardation which are 
neither congenital nor due to these inflam- 
matory processes. Mental development may be 
seriously retarded by disease of any organ, and 
is often notably so by disease of the ductless 
glands. There is here a glimmer of hope for 
the mentally defective, and doubtless, as our 
knowledge advances, more and more of these 
cases will be reclaimed to the normal life. 

Space can not be spared here for the intelli- 
gence tests themselves, but a caution may be 
uttered as regards their interpretation. In 

96 



KNOWLEDGE AND INTELLIGENCE 

studying the results of any such test all possible 
influencing factors must be considered. Hered- 
ity and all physical and economic conditions 
must be taken into account. Poor food, insuf- 
ficient food, unhappy home conditions, chronic 
or frequent illness, catarrh, adenoids, errors of 
vision, etc., all necessarily lower the apparent 
intelligence. On the other hand noblesse oblige, 
and so does good food, warm clothing, a happy 
comfortable home, and good health. While a 
child with physical and home difficulties will 
probably measure below his true level, a child 
happily situated should be expected to measure 
"high." 

We are dealing here with a matter of great 
social importance. Society presents all grades 
of intelligence. Some are remarkable in their 
quick understanding and in their ready adjust- 
ment to the most highly complex problems; 
others do well in ordinary affairs, but fail when 
faced by the unusual. Others, again, are ef- 
ficient only in the simplest of situations; while 
some, alas ! are confused and non-plussed even 
by these. Dr. Goddard tells of a girl who had 
learned to make a bed alone, but who was 
thrown into confusion by the proffer of help. 

The superior intelligences are unfortunately 
few, and the mass of the population measures 

97 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

disappointingly low. It would seem as though 
social revolution had outstripped the slow evo- 
lution of the brain, leaving us behind, as it were, 
and no longer able to measure up to what our 
complex modern life demands. Only the excep- 
tional man can be said to be fully efficient today ; 
the rest of us must be satisfied with something 
less than full efficiency. Charles Francis 
Adams was very near the truth when he said 
that "a man ought to be satisfied if he can get 
through life without making a conspicuous ass 
of himself. ' ' 

It has been frequently stated in this book, 
that social institutions are normally the product 
of the individual need, that they are outgrowths 
from man's necessities. This being true, one 
would reasonably expect that society could 
never confront man with problems beyond his 
capacity. Society, the creature, should not be 
beyond the understanding and control of the 
average man, its creator. This would indeed 
be the case had society evolved pari passu with 
man, but there have entered disturbing factors, 
factors not evolutionary, but revolutionary. I 
refer to invention and discovery. What one ex- 
ceptional man may do, may, in its far-reaching 
social influence, derange the whole of the social 
growth, and give it, by increased impetus, or 

98 



KNOWLEDGE AND INTELLIGENCE 

side-thrust, a movement different from or far 
beyond that possible by evolution alone. The 
fifteenth century's printing, the sixteenth cen- 
tury's voyages of discovery, and the nineteenth 
century's steam and electricity have been the 
most serious of these disturbing influences, and 
have resulted in completely breaking the nor- 
mal parallel between man and society. They 
are the "faults," to use a geological term, 
which have broken the continuity of the social 
strata, The greatest of these is steam. 

One hundred and fifty years ago, an intelli- 
gence test based upon the then required ef- 
ficiency would have graded the populace much 
higher than does the corresponding test today. 
Man has gone on his slow evolutionary way, 
and the man of today is probably a little more 
intelligent than was the man of yesterday; but 
society, too, has gone on, and not by any slow 
biological creeping, but by a series of leaps 
and bounds. Man's movement is almost im- 
perceptible ; that of society is saltatory. Rapid 
inter-communication has speeded up life to a 
degree beyond measurement, and man has been 
left in the lurch. No wonder the world is in a 
state of unrest! Man is being dragged, like a 
child by its thoughtless hurrying mother — its 
arm is fairly out at the socket. Only in this 

99 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

case it is society, the child, that is doing the 
dragging, and its elderly parent is the one that 
is breathlessly trying to keep up. 

What do we find in the working world? 
Some occupations, the skilled trades, for in- 
stance, require much training, and but little in- 
telligence; while others, such as the executive 
positions, require little training, and much in- 
telligence. Here lies the explanation of the 
large salaries paid to executives, and so re- 
sented by labour. Executive intelligence is 
rare, the ability to labour is common. It is 
merely a question of supply and demand. Here 
too lies the failure of government management 
where the executive, important, and difficult 
positions are filled by political favour ; and here 
lies the explanation of the breakdown when 
labour itself assumes control. Witness the 
early efforts at Bolshevist control of industry 
in Russia, and the quick destruction resulting. 
It is perfectly proper to wish that labour might 
have a hand in the conduct of affairs, but the 
fact is, as it seems to a psychologist, the hands 
of a factory would be about as badly off with- 
out an intelligent control, as would be the hands 
of the body without their head employer.* 

* For an exposition of one phase of the modern labour-capital 
problem, the division of reward, see ^Esop : The Belly and the 
Members. 

100 



KNOWLEDGE AND INTELLIGENCE 

I may seem to be intruding personal views in 
social economy, but I believe in psychology, and 
feel that the political economists, who are at 
least partially responsible for the present world 
mess, can hardly be counted on to get us out 
again by any further experimenting. It seems 
to me that there must be a complete re- orienta- 
tion of thought, and that our problems must be 
approached fundamentally and not through 
political formulas. 

In government, as in industry, leadership 
looks easy — government looks easy. Intelli- 
gence does not sweat at its labour, or it does so 
only in private, and it is therefore unappre- 
ciated by the masses. In our democracy, train- 
ing is conceded to be necessary for an engineer 
or a fireman, but executive and legislative posi- 
tions are supposed to be open and possible for 
all. Democracy will never become what it ought 
to become, until this error of attitude is cor- 
rected. This is no undemocratic class distinc- 
tion I am making, at least none in the sense of 
favouring any particular caste; intelligence is 
to be found in all walks of life, and is by no 
means especially prominent with the rich. It is 
not that Cleon is unfit to rule because he is a 
worker in leather — it is simply that his fitness 
must be otherwise determined. 

101 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Since so few of us are intelligent enough to 
be efficient in many lines, it has become im- 
portant to discover those in which we can do 
our best work. To meet this necessity there has 
come into being a new, practical, Occupational 
Psychology, an attempt, by various tests, to de- 
termine a man's most promising field of en- 
deavour. There is a real tragedy in being in 
the wrong position. Many a man goes through 
life on a very humble plane, who might have 
been distinguished had he had but the fortune 
to get properly placed in the beginning. Youth 
does not often have an intelligently directed 
ambition, and, even when youth has, mistakes 
are still inevitable, for conditions outside of 
ourselves generally determine the road we must 
travel. Accidents largely determine both the 
ambition and the possibility in starting a 
career; it is a fortunate man who both knows 
what he wants and is able to go after it. The 
new occupational psychology aims to reduce the 
number of errors by advising whenever a 
choice seems possible. 



102 



CHAPTER VIII 

THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

It is a common saying that but few people 
think. Well, that depends — from the stand- 
point of the position taken in this book, thought 
is a common possession of all men, and is even 
shared by them with other of the higher 
animals. The possession of a brain implies cer- 
tain mental processes, and these, in turn, imply 
thought. All will concede, for example, that 
animals have memory; but thought, I shall 
claim, is a mere elaboration of memory; it is 
memory glorified by rich associations, as I be- 
lieve I can show. Physiologically, thought may 
be conceived of as a flowing of the nerve force 
into available brain patterns ; and its possibility 
therefore depends upon the existence of these 
patterns. The value of thought is, of course, 
another matter. "When we come to consider 
values then we have to take into account the 
degree of development and also the matter of 
thought symbols. Thought, to be perfected, 
must find an expression, and language is one of 
its main elements. 

103 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Man's thought is thus conceived as differing 
from that of less endowed animals in quality 
rather than in kind; it is a difference in the 
number of available brain patterns, accentuated 
by a difference in language. A dog speaks with 
his bark, his growl, his whine, and, also, with 
his ears, the hair of his neck, his body attitude, 
and, last but not least, with his tail. He can 
tell of anger and fear, of elation and abasement, 
of hunger, and of pleasure and pain — he can 
even invite his master to go out for a walk. A 
bird sings love melodies to his mate, and woos 
by sweet song and by enticing display of his 
plumage. All this is language, and very sincere 
in its character, but it is limited in scope. A 
dog's tail is more to be trusted than is the word 
of many a man, but he can not lay before us the 
reasons for his opinion. Animal language, as a 
rule, is expressive of general ideas only, and is 
distinctly emotional ; the finer intellectual elabo- 
rations can not be made. With man it is differ- 
ent ; he has acquired a great variety of symbols 
expressive of many things, and these he uses to 
talk with, and these he uses to think with. 
' ' Thoughts are a kind of mental smoke and re- 
quire words to illuminate them." * 

I have said that a dog tells of his emotions — 

* Tom Paine. 

104 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

a man, too, may use dog language to tell of his. 
The gesture, the exclamation, the facial expres- 
sion often reveal thoughts which words may be 
used but to conceal. Elaborate intellectual 
processes, however, requiring the use of word 
symbols and a highly developed brain, have be- 
come possible to man, and to man only. Un- 
fortunately, man has not always treated lan- 
guage with the respect it deserves. Small men- 
talities degrade it; and carelessness does the 
same, with a resulting degradation of men- 
tality. When a person has but two or three ad- 
jectives, such as splendid, grand, terrible, and 
rotten; when one loves or hates everything one 
comes into contact with ; these words cease to be 
parts of speech, they become but emotional ex- 
pressions marking approval or disapproval. 
When a girl describes everything from a neck- 
tie or a puppy, to the League of Nations, as 
grand, she is but metaphorically wagging her 
tail. This is a reversal of the evolutionary 
uplift; it is an exhibition of catabolism, of the 
breaking down of the language accomplish- 
ment, and can but have its limiting effect on 
thought. 

Let us follow some of the thought processes 
and get an idea of what they consist. A man is 
undressing; he unbuttons his waistcoat, and 

105 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

takes off his watch, and begins to wind it. 
These actions are all automatic, there is no 
stimulation of consciousness — but suddenly 
there is a grating sound, and he can turn the 
stem no further. The nerve pathway, A, B, C, 
D, is broken, we will say at C. The habitual 
pattern is interrupted, and consciousness is at 
once stimulated. Instead of flowing on auto- 
matically and unconsciously to B, the nerve 
force is blocked and must flow elsewhere. It 
goes, we will say, to X, where there is a vague 
picture of the works and their workings. It is 
recognized that something is wrong — and the 
current flows to Y, which is a memory of having 
dropped the watch. From Y, it goes back to X, 
and then to M, who is a jeweller and watch- 
maker to whom the watch must be taken in the 
morning. 

So far, it is evident, we are dealing with a 
process of associative memory, and yet we are 
also at the beginning of thought. The picking 
up of consciousness at C, where our automatic 
pattern was interrupted, and the running of the 
nerve force here and there into associated 
areas, is a thinking process comparable with 
reverie, though with a purposive direction 
which is lacking in this latter. 

If we now introduce the idea of choice, we 
106 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

come to a higher plane. Suppose, in our 
example, we reach not M alone, but L, M y and 
N, all watchmakers. Before the mental act can 
now be completed, a choice must be made. Now 
begins a comparison and weighing; the nerve 
force flows backward and forward, each time 
developing new details of the patterns pre- 
sented. L is good, but high priced; M is too 
far away. N is handy, but has an unpleasant 
manner. Well, M is far away, but you can take 
a car to the door. As regards N, however, why 
should we care about the manner of the man if 
he does his work well? And so on, until the 
choice is made. This we may call deliberative 
thought, but it is still memory, we are but look- 
ing over our past experiences to find one which 
will fit the present case and thus enable us to 
act. The process is the same whether the prob- 
lem be simple or complex, and whether the end 
be a mere choice or an elaborate judgment. 
The nerve force flows from one pattern to an- 
other; meeting an obstruction it flows back, or 
is diverted and seeks new pathways; but it 
tends always to flow on, here and there, until it 
finds that pattern which answers the problem. 

If the right pattern be not found, most of us 
must then abandon the problem. A highly 
developed brain, however, will not yet concede 

107 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

failure, and will now proceed to another of its 
resources. Where no suitable pattern can be 
found already existing, there remains, for some, 
the further possibility of constructing a new 
pattern entirely — taking a part of one old one 
here, and a part of another there, until, finally, 
from many such parts a new design is made, 
one which will truly satisfy the requirements. 
This is constructive or original thought. It is, 
we may say, guided memory, plus imagination, 
plus many brain patterns. 

The nerve force flows until it finds the right 
pattern. What is a right pattern? We may 
answer, I believe, that it is one which is not 
contradicted by any other. What is true for us, 
in an intellectual way, is that which finds within 
us no contradicting brain pattern — that which 
arouses no sense of conflict, that which finds no 
opposition; that which is free, therefore, to 
work unhampered by any contrary tendency. 
A child looks out of the window, and sees snow 
for the first time — he exclaims, "Oh, look at the 
sugar J" Later he gets some new patterns per- 
taining to snow, and learns that it is cold, and 
not sweet ; but when the original judgment was 
uttered these contradictory experiences did not 
exist, and the first judgment was, therefore, 
both satisfactory and "true." All the facts 

108 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

possible must be obtained before forming a 
judgment; a pattern may be true in a dozen 
respects, and yet these may all be negatived by 
a single addition. I describe a person I have 
just met — red face, no moustache, rather small 
features, a heavy drinker — and you form a pic- 
ture. I add that the person is a baby, and your 
picture is shattered. Comment on this obvious 
essential in the making of judgments may seem 
unnecessary, but I once read of an identification 
by the police, where the prisoner had so many 
points of resemblance to the man wanted, that 
the single fact that his eyes were of a different 
colour was not permitted to acquit him. 

The value of a judgment, then, will depend 
upon the number of patterns one has available, 
but it will also depend upon the use one makes 
of these patterns. Let us assume two men with 
exactly the same patterns. Their thoughts may 
differ greatly in value, and will so differ, ac- 
cording to their powers of appreciating and 
using their pattern material. One will fail to 
see conflicting elements, which the other will see 
at once ; or will see them in unessential differ- 
ences which the other will recognize as unessen- 
tial. Again, one may fail to find any pattern 
which suits the case, but the other will see that 
a certain complex contains, in its hidden parts, 

109 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

just what is needed. One is a superficial 
thinker; the other, a keen thinker — they have 
the same patterns, but they use them with very 
different effect. It is a matter here of the 
development of the association areas, and this, 
we may confidently state, lies at the root of all 
variation in thought values. Other, non-intel- 
lectual, causes for variation in the value of 
judgments will be spoken of later. Strictly 
speaking, of course, the pathways through the 
association areas are included in the complete 
brain pattern, but in the assumption made here, 
that the two men possessed the same patterns, 
we have limited the meaning of the latter to the 
registered experiences. We have assumed that 
they have had the same experiences and the 
same education — in other words, that they have 
that kind of likeness which is appreciable to 
others. 

There is a sort of physiological satisfaction 
whenever a "true" answer is obtained to a 
problem. The successful completion of a nerve 
circuit produces a pleasing feeling just as do 
all successfully carried out physiological acts. 
It is furthermore important to note that the 
satisfaction is the same whether the thought 
has involved many patterns or few, and that, in 
fact, it may be the more complete in the latter 

110 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

case. The right pattern, we found, was one 
which met with no contradiction from other 
patterns — but, the fewer the patterns the less 
likelihood of such contradiction. If one has but 
few patterns, and these not closely connected, 
they are not likely to clash, and the decision 
made is a pure one, and consequently eminently 
satisfying. Where, on the other hand, the pat- 
terns are many, a decision may easily carry 
with it a sense that some of them were open to 
suspicion, that they contained elements which, 
it may be, deserved closer attention than had 
been given. We think we are right, but maybe 
we are wrong. Our decision becomes a quali- 
fied decision and lacks, therefore, that complete 
satisfaction which we accord to " truth." 

The less experience, then, we have had of a 
subject, the easier it is to arrive at a judgment 
concerning it, and the greater our satisfaction 
in that judgment. The three stages of intel- 
lectual development^ may be designated as, 
confidence, mquiry, and doubt, and the last, the 
highest, the doubtful stage, will make decisions 
far more justly than will the first, the stage of 
cocksureness. The difficulty in this highest 
stage is in obtaining a sufficient confidence to 
insure action — and action of some kind is the 
real end of thought. Herein lies the essential 

111 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

difference between youth and age. Youth is 
foolish, but acts; and though generally wrong 
does sometimes stumble on truth. Age is wise, 
but doubts ; and to it action seems hardly worth 
while. Youth is radical and ignorant, but does 
things ; age is conservative and experienced, but 
impotent. Montaigne was right when he said 
that, " Maturity hath her defects, as well as 
greenenesse, and worse ;" 

' ' First we get Power, but Power absurdly placed 
In Folly's keeping, who resigns her charge 
To Wisdom when all Power grows nothing worth : " * 

From childhood up we are, for the reasons I 
have given, all satisfied with our judgments, 
and they are, moreover, very precious to us. 
To quote Montaigne again: "We easily grant 
in others the advantage of courage, of bodily 
strength, of experience, and of beauty, but we 
yield the advantage of judgment to nobody.' ' 
Nature has been generous in her gift of under- 
standing, for there is no one but is contented 
with the share she has allotted him. ' ' The way 
of a fool is right in his own eyes. ' ' So true is 
this, that a wise man may learn from a fool, but 
a fool from a wise man, never. 

* Browning. 

112 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

It is the conceit of the mentally defective that 
excites criticism and impatience in those before 
whom they parade their shallow judgments. 
One does not criticize a lame man, but one 
would if the lame man were vain of his physical 
perfection. It is the vanity we criticize in a 
fool, not his foolishness — and yet, rightly 
looked at, his vanity is but a part of his fool- 
ishness. 

A child will bow to authority and still feel 
that he is right in his own view of the case. 
He knows he can do it; he knows he won't break 
it; he knows he won't hurt himself; he knows 
it won't make him sick. His facts may be few 
— he will grant that — but his opinion, he feels, 
is as good as any one's. "When we do accept 
the judgment of others it is either because the 
problem does not touch us personally, does not 
interest us, or, because it is one so far removed 
from our experience that we do not attempt a 
judgment for ourselves. The attitude of the 
public toward scientific affairs is an example in 
point; as is, also, the old-time attitude toward 
theology. When inquiry begins, however, and, 
with it, reasoning, then we make our own judg- 
ments and henceforth scrutinize those of others 
most critically. Note the modern attitude to- 
ward the church, as compared with the old. 

113 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Note the birth of the so numerous sects when 
the lid of priestly authority was lifted by 
Luther.* 

Between absolute acceptance of another's 
judgment, and absolute rejection of the same, 
lies half-hearted acceptance. Here the judg- 
ment presented to us is accepted, but at the 
same time there is partially aroused, some- 
where in our subconscious collection of brain 
patterns, one which is antagonistic. If this 
antagonistic pattern had risen to full conscious- 
ness, we would have rejected the judgment, but 
being only partially stimulated the full antago- 
nism is not perceived — we accept the judgment 
accordingly, but with an uncomfortable sense 
of dissatisfaction, with a feeling that some- 
thing is wrong. In wilful insincere rejection, 
on the other hand, we recognize the truth intel- 
lectually, but shut our eyes to it, and make an 
emotional denial — the intellectual truth being 
contrary to some deep-seated prejudice. 

If we are all so satisfied with our own under- 
standing, how then are we to attain to wisdom? 
How are we to know wisdom when we see it? 

* The multiplication of new creeds following the Reformation 
was not, however, due solely to the freedom of discussion. Its 
deeper foundation lay in the release of the diverging desires and 
dispositions of men, and in the subsequent formation of groups of 
the like-minded. That it required many groups, many churches, to 
provide for all, was to be expected. 

114 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

Ulysses exclaims to Athenae, "To know thee 
truly through all thy changes is given only to 
those whom thou hast been pleased to grace." 
Or, as Schopenhauer puts it, "Intellect is in- 
visible to the man who has none. " As a matter 
of fact there is just one hope for us, and that 
lies in the recognition of our limitations. We 
must be free to confess that our judgment may 
be wrong, no matter how right it may seem to 
us. And we must learn to judge judgments ; we 
must learn to look for, recognize, and value the 
factors involved. Coleridge gives good advice 
when he says : "Until you are sure of a writer's 
ignorance presume yourself ignorant of his 
understanding." Confucius long ago taught 
that, "to know what we know, and to know 
what we do not know — this is wisdom." 
Proverbs has it, "The way of a fool is right in 
his own eyes, but he that is wise hearkeneth 
unto counsel." What Confucius and Solomon 
have said of wisdom applies equally to knowl- 
edge, for the mind, however small it may be, 
completely fills its own field. The ignorant 
mind is a complete mind so far as it goes, and 
it carries that same satisfaction which accom- 
panies all completeness. To realize truly how 
little one knows, and to be dissatisfied with this 
lack, is the beginning both of knowledge and of 

115 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

wisdom — it signifies much. The savage who 
knows naught but his own primitive life is well 
pleased therewith, and, even when brought into 
contact with the comforts of civilization, experi- 
ences no envy — not even wonder; these things 
are beyond his understanding and interest. It 
is so with the ignorant mind. When man comes 
to realize and lament his deficiency, however, 
then striving begins, and from now on he is 
neither primitive nor ignorant. 

If we can but know our limitations, then, we 
are already a long way on the road to wisdom. 
Let us represent wisdom by a fraction — we 
surely can not aspire to more ; unity here would 
be omniscience. If we write our ability for the 
numerator, and make the denominator our pre- 
tension, it is evident that the value of the frac- 
tion can be raised, either by increasing the for- 
mer, or by decreasing the latter. 

But this is not all. The satisfactory working 
out of any problem requires that we shall ap- 
proach it with an open mind. We must en- 
deavour to separate the problem from our 
prejudices ! If we start out with an idea which 
we wish to prove; if we start out, in other 
words, with the answer; we are pretty sure to 
find that same answer. Proof of what we wish 
to believe is easily obtained. What is it we do 

116 



THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

when we make these prejudiced judgments! 
We go to our filing-case of experiences and we 
look it over, and we take from it a fairly large 
assortment of what we want. The other experi- 
ences we reject and — Lo ! the problem is solved! 
We have more or less wilfully forced conflicting 
patterns out of consciousness, and we may ulti- 
mately forget them, and come to believe our 
judgment to be actually true.* This is much as 
the world has gone to that rich storehouse, the 
Bible, and has drawn from it whatsoever it has 
desired — prohibition and wine drinking, celi- 
bacy and marriage, polygamy and monogamy, 
Presbyterianism and Universalism. 

I speak of prejudiced judgments as being 
made by the rejection of conflicting patterns. 
It is, however, evident that a judgment may be 
prejudiced in character (that is, unguided by 
sufficient evidence) and yet, owing to the limi- 
tations of the individual, there may really be no 
conflicting patterns present. Such a judgment 
is satisfying to its possessor to the highest de- 
gree — it is the kind men are willing to die for. 
Contradict such a judgment and you are met 
with silent scorn. Contradict, on the other 

* In a similar way, the force of an epigram lies in the fact that 
its happy expression temporarily distracts our attention from con- 
flicting patterns, making it, for the moment, as true as it is 
pleasing. 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

hand, a judgment where conflicting patterns are 
present but wilfully ignored, and you are met 
with anger. Those attempted-to-be-forgotten 
patterns lying there unused can not be re- 
pressed by any intellectual act, they can be 
reacted against only emotionally. Contrast 
with these the reaction to criticism where the 
judgment is purely an intellectual one. Criti- 
cism here leads only to argument — men do not 
die for opinions so coldly conceived. 

What are the factors which determine our 
prejudices, our pre-judgments? They are our 
innate dispositions and emotions, our tempera- 
ment, and the influences of group opinions — of 
our group, the customs and attitudes of thought 
which constitute our mores, the mores of our 
family, set, city, state, and nation. Democracy, 
for instance, is so firmly entrenched with us, 
that we are hardly capable of discussing it in- 
telligently; it has obtained for us almost a 
moral value. And yet, to Thomas Carlyle it 
meant but a form of government in which Jesus 
and Judas were given an equal vote— a state of 
affairs he indignantly repudiated. Moral? 
Yes! Mores — the same word, the same thing! 
Morals are mores which have become sanctified 
by long usage ; and other mores than ours are — 
immoral. 

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THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

We began this chapter with a criticism of the 
statement that few people think, but if we 
change that to the assertion that few people 
make valuable judgments, we shall not be far 
from the truth. With very many all actions 
and attitudes are determined by prejudice, 
without inquiry, and with blindness to the ex- 
perience of others. These prejudices are like 
stained-glass windows (Chesterton has sug- 
gested the idea) behind which we live and 
through which we must view the world — very 
darkly stained they are for some, less so for 
others. We, each of us, must look through our 
own windows ; we can not get away from them, 
nor can we see through the windows of others. 
It would seem that the best we can do is to re- 
member that the windows are there. And yet — 
all of the stain is not " burnt in the glass,' ' some 
of it may be cleaned away— education may help. 
As a matter of fact, education, properly ap- 
plied, is a wonderful agent. It is education 
which helps us to control our primitive and 
subconscious impulses, and it is education, then, 
which we may bring in to help clean our win- 
dows — but it can not do everything, some colour 
will always remain. Will it be objected that 
some educated men are noted for prejudice! 
Well, I make no claim of patent universal ef- 

119 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ficiency in the agent I advertise. Some colours 
are burnt in the glass, and these permanent 
colours may be very dark ones. What is truly 
of serious importance here is, that narrowness 
of vision, strong prejudices, and dogmatism, 
especially if accompanied by facility in the ex- 
pression of idealistic platitudes, makes a whole 
which seems to the foolish most admirable. A 
man so unfortunately endowed may easily be- 
come a leader, and his limitation of judgment a 
social menace. 

In this writing I have endeavoured to avoid 
speculation, and yet in this presentation of 
thought and judgment I fear that I have been 
getting close to debatable ground. That 
thought should be limited by that which is 
already in the mind; that it is but a directed 
voluntary memory ; and that the problem should 
be solved only by recalling, remembering, and 
examining — all this may seem highly disput- 
able. It is, however, the very foundation of the 
well tried and proven Socratic method, and to 
educate — "to draw out" — certainly implies 
that the something to be drawn out must be 
already within. New patterns we do truly ac- 
cumulate, but these must become assimilated 
with patterns already existing or they remain 

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THOUGHT AND JUDGMENT 

worthless for reasoning purposes. It must 
further be realized that I have been describing 
these processes, not offering explanations. An 
attempt at teleological exposition would indeed 
lead us into metaphysical regions. 

Just a word more. There is a tendency in 
science to identify all mental processes with 
their physical origins and thus to abandon the 
older differentiation of mind and matter. This 
is what is known as monism — materialistic 
monism. Now materialistic monism is useful 
as a working hypothesis — I have so used it in 
this writing — but it would be wrong to regard 
it as a scientifically established fact; That con- 
sciousness has a reality of its own to the degree 
that it is capable of modifying physical func- 
tion, must certainly be granted. The brain is 
an organ and, materialistically, it can not be 
different from other organs, but we know that 
organs alter with need, and even atrophy and 
disappear when the need is no more. Our own 
bodies contain many of these vestiges. This is 
no sophistical argument; it is one which can 
not be escaped from when we think about it 
rightly, and it should, at least, make us pause 
before accepting the monist idea. And yet, on 
the other hand, how very slight a physical 
change will profoundly alter, or even obliterate, 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

this same mental power. An apoplexy consists 
in but the leakage of a few drops of blood into 
the brain substance. Where does the mind go 
then? — And why? Let us continue to use the 
hypothesis so long as it remains useful, but let 
us not go beyond our facts. "Overbeliefs," 
those which are held without the foundation of 
fact, are no more true when they come through 
the gateway of science than when they lack this 
prestige. 



122 



CHAPTER IX 



It is not proposed to attempt, within the narrow 
limits of this small book, a treatise on the psy- 
chology of education; the subject is too vast. 
All education belongs to psychology, and all 
psychology pertains to education. It is in the 
hope of bettering education that psychology 
finds its reason for being. But let us consider 
briefly a few broad educational principles, and 
thus indicate that general psychological atti- 
tude believed to be helpful in securing results. 
The purpose of education we will assume to 
be a preparation for life — a preparation for the 
labours and discords of life, and a preparation, 
also, for life's leisure. I italicize this last, it is 
so often forgotten, if, indeed, it be ever remem- 
bered — and yet it may easily become the most 
important of all. What shall a man do with 
his leisure? How shall he employ his periods 
of rest? How he does, will demonstrate his 
character. And what about that enforced rest 

* While a separate chapter has here been made of certain of the 
psychological elements which enter into education, Chapters V 
to X, inclusive, all pertain directly to educational matters. 

123 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

of old age, that period when man, like Prome- 
theus chained to the roek, has far more leisure 
than he likes? There are few beings more 
pathetic than those aged ones to whom time has 
brought nothing but years ; who have never at- 
tained to wisdom, and who, having built their 
whole scheme of life on a frivolous search for 
entertainment of the senses, find themselves, at 
last, with their capacity for this kind of enter- 
tainment gone. It may be added, too, that the 
passing of one's leisure is a matter of growing 
importance. Whether well advised or not, the 
hours of labour are everywhere being curtailed, 
and man's leisure period correspondingly in- 
creased. May it not be that part at least of 
the world's present unrest is due to lack of 
preparation for this new condition? 

It is life, then, in all of its aspects, for which 
education must prepare. At once two problems 
present — what shall we teach ; and how shall we 
teach it? Most educational work along psy- 
chological lines has concerned itself with the 
second problem alone; the first has been dis- 
cussed mainly along unpsychological lines, and 
has taken chiefly the form of a futile debate be- 
tween the classicists and the non-classicists. 

Let us examine the first of these problems for 
a moment; it is quite as psychological as the 

124 



EDUCATION 

second. Knowledge in some form has been uni- 
versally regarded as the essential element of 
the educational goal — and it is, but not that 
which is commonly called knowledge. We have 
already made the distinction between knowl- 
edge and intelligence, let us keep that distinc- 
tion in mind. No mere storing of facts, dates, 
names, etc., is worth while from the psychologi- 
cal standpoint. This type of information may 
indeed be useful, but it is a poor goal to aim at, 
and should be regarded only as an incident of 
true education. A trained adult can acquire in 
one year what it takes the child ten years to 
acquire, in this kind of knowledge. Many a 
man of affairs has had no schooling, no book 
training in youth, and yet stands today an edu- 
cated man and a leader, not only in business, but 
in society generally. He may be prominent in 
municipal or national politics, or an expert in 
pictures, or books — what you please! Such a 
man we call an able man; he is a king among 
men — a king, a kon-ning, a man who can. This 
man has knowledge of a special kind. To put it 
in terms of the brain, he has acquired a store of 
ready-to-use, associated brain patterns by the 
aid of which he confidently copes with the prob- 
lems of life. He is a man of educatign. 

Mental growth consists in the obtaining of 
125 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

experience which, stored away, becomes avail- 
able for the formation of new brain patterns 
and the elaboration of the old ; but, be it noted, 
to obtain this it is not sufficient to have merely 
lived through a series of events. The useful ex- 
perience in life, that which can be built up into 
the brain pattern, is the experience which has 
been grasped, explained and understood, and 
which has been oriented in the mind with other 
experiences. It is not the obvious wealth and 
variety of life that makes the well-stored mind. 
No life can be well conceived which does not 
present daily experiences sufficient to amply 
store any mind open to their reception. The 
country boy, the shut-in, the recluse, the hermit, 
even, may accumulate great wisdom; it is all a 
matter of observation and reflection. The Bible 
has been many a wise man's sole library. 

No mere memory of facts can alone give the 
efficiency here referred to, and yet, informing 
facts have in the past been considered the 
major part of education. Botany, when I went 
to school, consisted in the naming of plants ; and 
when one had analysed his plant, identified it, 
and named it, he was through. If one knew the 
botanical names of the plants in his neighbour- 
hood, he was a botanist, though he might not 
have even the most elementary knowledge of 

126 






EDUCATION 

plant life itself, or of its manifold mysteries 
and functions. 

No wonder, in the old days, a valedictorian 
was regarded with little confidence or hope. It 
was a common enough saying then, that honour 
men were no good in after life. In those days 
it was not the possession of intelligence that 
determined the school success ; it was the reten- 
tive memory, and a willingness to subordinate 
thought to mere acquisition. It was docility 
rather than originality that gathered the palms. 
That the recent trials of the intelligence tests 
have revealed a pretty close parallel between 
their results and those of the school examina- 
tions, is in itself a suggestive endorsement of 
the newer educational methods. Intelligence 
has evidently at last entered the school; and, if 
this be so, no parent need now look askance at 
his valedictorian son. The ideas of educa- 
tional method have advanced. Facts which 
once were introduced a posteriori, by the ap- 
plication of birchen rods, were next poured in 
at the ear. This marked an improvement, but 
not enough ; so far as results were concerned it 
was like pouring from a bucket into a narrow- 
necked vase. The present stage is more hope- 
ful; we now seek, in our better schools, to ob- 
tain entrance through the child's understand- 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ing. Facts are still given, but they are given 
enriched by inspiring explanation and associa- 
tion; and they are worked in by the teacher 
until they become a part of the child's men- 
tality. 

This ideal has not yet, of course, been gen- 
erally realized; but it is recognized, and that 
is a beginning. Self-sacrificing teachers are 
everywhere making a brave effort to reach this 
high goal, and it is to our shame that they re- 
ceive so little appreciation or support. In these 
days of tense living the conservation and de- 
velopment of brain power should be, but is not, 
the nation's most important conservation pro- 
gram. Nor by brain power do we mean 
scholarship; rather we mean that functional 
control which shall lead to a better life — for in- 
tellectualism alone may be a menace. " Lilies 
that fester smell far worse than weeds." A 
perversion of thought may be worse than a lack. 

It is with the child that we are chiefly con- 
cerned. Childhood is the plastic period of life, 
and it is then that the fundamentals of char- 
acter are laid down once for all. 

Here is one phase of the situation — listen to 
Bergson: "Each of us, glancing back over his 
history, will find that his child-personality, 
though indivisible, united in itself divers per- 

128 



EDUCATION 

sons, which could remain blended just because 
they were in their nascent state : this indecision, 
so charged with promise, is one of the greatest 
charms of childhood. But these interwoven 
personalities become incompatible in course of 
growth, and, as each of us can live but one life, 
a choice must perforce be made. We choose in 
reality without ceasing; without ceasing, also, 
we abandon many things. The route we pursue 
in time is strewn with the remains of all that 
we began to be, of all that we might have 

been."* 

The direct significance of this from an educa- 
tional standpoint is of course obvious — the child 
must not be abandoned to idle chance in making 
its choice; it must have the advantage of guid- 
ance. We are all, more or less, " moved by de- 
sires, as puppets by strings,' ' but let us at least 
learn somewhat to control these desires. It is 
this, I take it, which is the great aim of educa- 
tion in childhood. Tendencies thrive or remain 
dormant according to the environment. * Of the 
many possibilities with which the infant begins 
life, those which will develop will be, generally 
speaking, those which in his experience (en- 
vironment) he finds useful. The seeds of thou- 
sands upon thousands of dispositions are sown, 

* Bergson : Creative Evolution, 

129 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

but those only flourish which find a favourable 
soil. 

The child is a most difficult human problem, 
the developing and understanding of which 
should call forth all the ingenuity and enthusi- 
asm of research. Unfortunately, many have yet 
to learn that the problem exists. Wilfred Lay * 
compares teaching with the driving of an auto- 
mobile. How much one can get out of a ma- 
chine depends upon how much one knows of the 
machine. Any one can drive if the machine 
works well; it is when it begins to "miss," and 
otherwise "act up," that the ignorant driver be- 
comes helpless. Such a one will then probably 
blame the machine, and let it go at that; but 
another, who knows the machine, will be stimu- 
lated by the problem presented, and will gen- 
erally solve it, possibly by some simple adjust- 
ment. Again, the mere driver, through failure 
to recognize ominous signs, and by endeavour- 
ing to force the machine when he should not, 
may bring about irreparable injury — injury 
which an intelligent handling would have en- 
tirely avoided. 

Let us drop any specific application in our 
use of the word teacher, and let us understand 
that what we have to say pertains to the home 

* The Unconscious Mind of the Child; 

130 



EDUCATION 

as well as to the school. Certainly the parents 
are solely responsible for that period of life 
which is the most important of all — the first six 
years. The child of six is already far advanced 
in character formation, and if the start has been 
bad, so much the worse for all concerned — cor- 
rection will have already become most difficult. 

It is in this first period of life that the deepest 
and most ineffaceable foundations are laid in 
the unconscious mind, and this fact alone should 
indicate its importance. In these first years 
lies the principal part of all education, the form- 
ing and establishing of useful habits. There is 
no greater error than that which the world com- 
mits when it places knowledge as the goal of 
childhood, and leaves the acquiring of good 
habits to the future. "You can not teach an old 
dog new tricks,' \ expresses a profound psycho- 
logical truth. The good habits, moral, social, 
and personal, which may be obtained in child- 
hood, and then only, count more for the happi- 
ness and future welfare of the child than does 
all the knowledge he can gain in a lifetime. 

Is this statement too ' ' strong' ! 1 I think not, 
but if I have made it so, it is only because in 
practice in our schools habit formation has been 
so sinfully neglected. I do not wish to detract 
from the value of learning in general, but 

131 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

merely to point out to parents and teachers 
where it is that their first dnty lies. 

The formation of habit is a progressive act ; 
it is in line with the child's development. Edu- 
cation in the ordinary sense, on the other hand, 
is a looking backward. It is an attempt to carry 
forward-looking youth backward over paths 
which others have already traversed — and it is 
this which makes it so difficult. And yet this 
too is, of course, necessary if in this short life 
of ours any true progress is to be made. The 
past must first be made ours if we are to begin 
our own progress in the present. The school 
period corresponds, as it were, to the synopsis 
of preceding chapters often given in a magazine 
serial — one must read the synopsis to under- 
stand that which follows. But habits, judicial, 
logical, analytical, of concentration, of applica- 
tion, and of control, are what we must really 
first seek. These form the valuable part of edu- 
cation, the universally applicable part, the part 
which carries over from school to the life in the 
world of men. No study has per se much value 
in developing mind, other than through the 
habit of mind which may be gained in its pur- 
suit. The great contribution of science to the 
world has been the scientific attitude. The mere 
facts in the case are very secondary to the man- 

132 



EDUCATION 

ner of approach to these facts. This is not a 
denying of the specific value of facts — arith- 
metic is essential to the storekeeper, as are the 
higher mathematics to the engineer. Latin is 
helpful in the study of the romance languages, 
as it is, also, helpful to a correct knowledge of 
English. Facts all have their specific values, 
but in comparison with the mind's development, 
or in aid to it, they remain secondary. What 
fact or number of facts can equal in value the 
power to hold one's self to an unpleasant but 
necessary task? A man who has finished his 
educational period — if there be any such — has 
acquired a set of attitudes. What these atti- 
tudes are is the measure of his education. 

Character depends only partially upon the 
innate dispositions and the temperament; it de- 
pends really, chiefly, upon the reaction between 
these factors and the environment — and this is 
where instruction steps in, to aid in determin- 
ing what this reaction shall be. Whether your 
child shall grow up disobedient, deceitful, cap- 
tious, careless, indifferent, vain, selfish, obsti- 
nate, whining, tricky, or impudent; or whether 
he shall be obedient, truthful, considerate, civil, 
generous, brave, and kind, depends very largely 
upon you — the parent. Locke says that every 
man desires for his son virtue, wisdom, breed- 

133^ 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ing, and learning — with a normal child the first 
three of these are almost solely, and the fourth, 
largely, within the parent's control. 

In most cases, probably, a bad bringing up 
will be the result of neglect ; it will depend upon 
our sins of omission. But it may also depend 
upon a wrong attitude, as, for instance, upon 
the erroneous notions of parents who may be 
well intentioned but ignorant. Again, some, 
through "love for the child" and from a wish 
not to cross it, will permit it to do things which 
they know to be wrong — things which must be 
reckoned for, in tears, later on. And, finally, 
there are those who deliberately foster the 
child's worst possible traits; who praise and 
laugh at what are really incipient vices. They 
coddle and spoil; and exhibitions of temper, of 
wilfulness, or selfishness, of vanity, are made 
the subject of the fond parents' boast. Then, 
to quote Locke again, "When their children are 
grown up, and their ill habits with them ; when 
they are now too big to be dandled, and the 
parents can no longer make use of them as play- 
things, then they complain that the brats are 
untoward and perverse. ' ' Fond parents, I have 
called them — in earlier times fond meant fool- 
ish; how the word came to be applied as it is 
now, is evident. 

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EDUCATION 

It is this child, born of you and now further 
moulded, through its entire formative period, 
by your teachings, who enters school ; do not at- 
tempt to shift all the responsibility, for the 
results there obtained, to the school-teacher. 
What the child learns there is important 
enough, but it is largely social — emulation, fair 
play, social adjustment, the rights of others, 
and the general duties of the larger circle. The 
beginning of all this should have been ingrafted 
in the home, but it is further developed in the 
school playground and in the classroom. All 
the rest is the parent's part, and the obligation 
can not be avoided. 

From the purely educational standpoint, 
aside from habit and character formation 
(though in reality all pertains to these) our 
first duty is to explain things to the child, to 
explain what he sees. Or maybe the first duty 
of all is to teach him to see, to train him in 
observation, and to train him in inquiry, and 
thus to store his mind with experiences, the 
sine qua non of intellectual life. Bring him to 
an appreciation of the things about him, the 
things of home life. No finer acquisition can 
be obtained by a child than a realization that 
the near things are the things of importance. 
Too many of us pass through life without this 

135 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

enriching knowledge, and, missing reality alto- 
gether, respond only to the allurement of dis- 
tance. It would seem as though certain schools 
deliberately cherish the long-distance view. 
Under the pleasing mask of social idealism they 
instil an aspiration toward public service; and 
the home, the unit and very foundation of all 
social life, is left to become cold and indifferent. 
The mirage on the horizon alone allures; near 
things seem prosaic. Again, as the near-thing is 
the important thing, so is the near-time. "Write 
it on your heart,' ' says Emerson, "that every 
day is the best day in the year." 

Some of you will say, "Well, my boy cer- 
tainly does not have to be taught to ask ques- 
tions ! ' ' No, but does he ask these questions for 
information, or is his questioning but an idle 
habit? If he does ask for information, are you 
sure that you know how to answer him? It will 
take a wise parent to answer questions well! 
Let me suggest, however, that all questions 
should not be directly answered. Instruction 
is often best effected by putting the child, if not 
too young, in the way of discovering answers 
for himself. Thus, if you have the knowledge 
and ability, point out the analogies of nature, 
and let him discover from the known forces 
some explanation of the seemingly more mys- 

136 



EDUCATION 

terious. Introduce him early to the dictionary 
and encyclopedia, especially to the former. Do 
not let your boy grow up shying at books, as a 
colt shies at paper in general; lead him up to 
them while he is still young, he will find that 
they are useful, not dangerous. 

There is no better road to clear think- 
ing than over the path of a good vocabu- 
lary. Words are essential to thought, as we 
have already seen, and a poor knowledge of 
words must make for indifferent thinking. 
But, in your teaching, remember this, too, 
words are not things, they are but symbols. 
Words do not convey ideas, they merely arouse 
them, and, like experiences, they must be as- 
similated and appreciated before they become 
useful. They are valuable only when the thing 
they symbolize is understood; they can arouse 
an idea only if the child's mind already con- 
tains the making of that idea. Take an example 
from adult life. When the radical idealist 
preaches "liberty' ! to the audience before him, 
he is interpreted by many as meaning some- 
thing far different from the beautiful concept 
of his own intention. With many, the brain pat- 
terns responding will be those of license and 
freedom from restraint. This limitation of lan- 
guage must be ever borne in mind in talking 

137 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

with children; the words used must connect up 
with the patterns they already possess, and 
these must be the right patterns. You, your- 
self, must be intelligent enough to follow the 
steps of their possibilities of appreciation. All 
intellectual acquisition is made on the general 
plan of that interesting story of "The House 
That Jack Built. ' ' It is a serial process involv- 
ing repeated additions each of which is assimi- 
lated and adjusted to that which has gone 
before. 

Certain languages have an advantage over 
the English as regards their use by children. 
When we wish to name a thing we commonly 
turn to the Greek or the Latin, and from roots 
there found, construct a new word — a word 
which, without a knowledge of these classical 
roots, has no meaning until explained. With 
more strictly national languages, such as the 
German, for instance, a new word will be con- 
structed from old and familiar ones by a proc- 
ess of compounding, and will carry its meaning 
with it. Thus, in German a genealogist is a 
Geschlechtskundige, a race or family knower; 
a tragedy is a Trauer spiel, a mournful play ; the 
act of making restoration is a Wiederbringung , 
a bringing back. In English we do the same 
thing in a limited degree; we do speak of a 

138 



EDUCATION 

steam-ship, and of a railway, for instance, but 
we much more often turn to the classics. The 
advantage of the English method is great so far 
as the language is concerned, but it does also 
complicate instruction — since Greek and Latin 
have been removed from their former proud 
place in our school curriculum. 

Practically it has been found that there are 
definite periods in the brain development of the 
child when certain concepts first become pos- 
sible. For example, few children have a true 
conception of morning and afternoon, as real 
periods of time, before the age of six. The 
average child does not appreciate the time in- 
terval of a week and gives but little time value 
to the days of the week, before the age of eight ; 
and not until he reaches nine has he any useful 
concept of months and years. An appreciation 
of abstracts is rarely possible before twelve 
— how could it be? Abstracts are but com- 
posites of many related attributes, and their 
conception can only follow experience. If one 
knows but one kind of goodness any sense of 
an abstract good must be impossible. Of course 
a child may learn the days of the week at two ; 
he may use any of the above terms, and he may 
use them glibly; but they will have no experi- 

139 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ence value for him, and he will not really sense 
them. 

The child's mind, as I have said, must contain 
the making of an idea before he can grasp it; 
words alone convey nothing to him. Develop- 
ment is a growth by the timely addition of new 
facts and experiences, which are added to and 
assimilated to those related facts already pos- 
sessed. Instead of this judicious feeding, many 
a child has presented to it great indigestible 
globs of material which can produce nothing 
but a mental dyspepsia. So often is this the 
ease that the child ceases to wonder; it chews 
its educational fodder with pain but without 
question. The child recites and makes maybe a 
perfect recitation ; but this is often mere chance, 
the perfect recitation may indicate no better 
understanding than the one which displays 
some ridiculous error. One child may say that 
Ireland is called the Emerald Isle because it is 
green ; and another may say that it is called the 
Emigrant Isle for the same reason — the dif- 
ference may be simply a difference in the acute- 
ness of hearing, not of understanding; neither 
may understand a word of what they are say- 
ing — though in this case both might seem to be 
right. The answers found on examination 
papers are sometimes illuminating: "The Puri- 

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EDUCATION 

tans found an insane asylum in the wilds of 
America." "Pompeii was destroyed by saliva 
from the Vatican.' ' "The abdomen contains 
the bowels, of which there are five — a, e, i, o, 
and u, and sometimes w and y. ' ' 

It is this attitude of helpless passivity with 
the early discovery that it is futile to try to 
understand, that is at the root of that feeling, 
lifelong with many, that knowledge is an alien, 
unpractical thing, a something to be always 
kept apart from the affairs of the real world. 
The youth turns with relief from the vagaries 
of school to the realities of life. The former 
are " silly' ' and generally "over his head," but 
the latter are what he has found out and ap- 
preciated for himself, and are, therefore, well 
within his understanding. Could education pro- 
ceed hand in hand with the growth of the child's 
capacity this false attitude would never be ob- 
tained, and educational affairs would take a 
place in his life along with the other realities. 
Add this difficulty, this too early administration 
of educational provender, to that psychological, 
physiological, biologic difficulty already spoken 
of, that youth is essentially forward-looking 
and that education has to do with the past, and 
it is no wonder that our schooling falls so far 
below our eager expectations. 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Bemember the age, then, and the capability 
of the child when you offer instruction! And 
so, also, in conduct— do not expect ten-year-old 
conduct from a four-year-old child. Moral 
training, like the physical and the intellectual, 
must be developed pari passu with the growth. 
Many a so-called bad child is but a backward 
child unrecognized as such by its parents. With 
the very young, do not bother about morals at 
all, confine yourself to the habits, the rest will 
come along in due time. The morals, it has 
been said, are the fruits desired, but the habits 
are the roots and the branches. 

One sometimes hears earnest mothers speak- 
ing in gentle expostulation with naughty chil- 
dren, holding forth to them the most highly 
complex abstract sentiments as motives for 
good behaviour. Eesults of some kind may be 
obtained from such talks, but they are not the 
product of the moral formulas. They are, as a 
matter of fact, owing to the sympathetic emo- 
tion aroused within the child, to the bringing 
into play of this most elemental reaction. A 
child listening to the saddened voice of the 
mother, with its unwonted solemnity, is greatly 
impressed, and becomes itself conscious of an 
unhappy feeling. This state of affairs becomes 
to the child something decidedly unpleasant 

142 



EDUCATION 

and, therefore, to be avoided in the future. It 
is not the talk of Heaven, nor the suggestion 
that we should aspire to grow up to be honour- 
able men, that has impressed the child — had the 
mother recited the points of the compass in the 
same tone of voice, with the same unpleasant 
solemnity, the effect might have been much the 
same. 

Some children have little of the sympathetic 
emotion — what are we to do with them? Well, 
we can spank them; that is one way, and a 
pretty good one, but not often needed. What- 
ever we do, however, it must be a concrete thing, 
not an abstract. Shall we reason with them? 
That depends — the greatest possible discretion 
must be observed if we are to undertake this 
method. Reason is more suitably used as the 
coping stone in the training of morals, than it 
is for foundation work; though when handled 
with wisdom it may have its value. You know 
the child who answers every command, big and 
little, with, "Why-y-y?" "Why do I have to 
doit?" "Why do I have to go to bed?" "Why 
can't I eat it?" "Why can't I go?" Well, this 
child is the product of a too early attempt at 
reasoning. If the child by nature were amen- 
able to reason, the situation would be different ; 
but remember what has been said of children's 

143 



^M 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

judgments — they are always necessarily satis- 
factory to the child. This being so, the child 
can not really accept your judgment unless it 
happens to coincide with his own. He obeys in 
the end because he must, because he is a child 
and you are in authority. How often such 
"reasoning" comes to an end with an exas- 
perated, "Because I say so!" from the parent. 
Well, then, why didn't you say so in the begin- 
ning? To argue every point, to reduce every- 
thing to words, makes a captious, tiresome 
child, and the habit, as it flowers in after life, 
is not a pretty one! Explain, yes! but do not 
argue — and it is generally into argument that 
the process degenerates. I am speaking, of 
course, of the very young child. A time comes 
when the child ceases to be a child, and when 
reason is the proper approach — another fact 
often forgotten by parents. 

This criticism, first of moral reproof and now 
of reasoning, will be offensive to some, but it is 
true to the psychology of childhood. The child 
must be approached in simplicity. All of the 
potentialities of life are there in that little body, 
but we must not be deceived into regarding 
them as actualities, useful now to the child. 

We have attained so far but to the idea of 
sympathetic control, which we recognize can be 

144 



EDUCATION 

useful only with sympathetic children. For 
others, it is evident, we must evolve some more 
concrete method. 

Mother Nature has worked out an idea which 
may be useful to us, though we can not adopt 
it without some change, for she, strange dame, 
is more concerned with the race than she is with 
the individual — an attitude never met with in 
women of smaller family. I refer to the system 
of rewards and punishments. As rewards for 
good behaviour nature gives us good health and 
happiness; as punishments for going contrary 
to her directions we get pain, disease, and 
death. As has just been said, this plan, espe- 
cially as regards the punishment, can be 
adopted only after change — capital punish- 
ments are not what we are after. To hang a 
man may really be a good lesson for him, but 
it hardly seems worth while. On the other 
hand, all of nature 's punishments are not capi- 
tal, and some of them may well be allowed to 
stand. 

Within certain limits, when not actually hurt- 
ful to the child, we should not try to prevent the 
natural consequence of a child's act. When a 
child, past infancy, tires of its toy and breaks 
it, it should henceforth go without. When, 
through lazy carelessness, things have been 

145 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

broken or lost, they should not be replaced. 
When a weekly allowance has been dissipated in 
wild orgy, on the first day of the week, there 
should be six days to await a renewal, six days 
of leanness. These are difficult disciplines for 
a generous-hearted parent to effect, but the 
worth of your love for your child must be meas- 
ured by your success in carrying them out. It 
is not a high form of love which cares more for 
the selfish pleasure of giving than it does for 
the child's future welfare. Viewed rightly 
these are the safest punishments that can well 
be conceived of; they are natural, and logical, 
and instructive. By them may be developed, 
very early, a true sense of responsibility, a 
realization of cause and effect, and a general 
manliness of outlook on life. 

Nature sometimes fails us as a model in that 
her punishment may be too far removed from 
the offence. She has not found it necessary to 
consider the finer psychological truths — her 
children are so many that she can easily spare 
some, and therefore dares to work crudely. 
There is no use in telling a child that if he does 
so and so, by the time he is fifty he will be an 
ill man. No, for our purpose, the individual's 
good, we must get the punishment, or the re- 
ward, into close relation with the act calling it 

146 



EDUCATION 

forth. A close association must be made be- 
tween the two in the child's mind. A punish- 
ment promised for Saturday — a keeping from 
play, for instance — for some offence committed 
on Monday, does not establish this necessary 
relation. Such a postponed punishment has no 
deterrent value and, when it comes, it does 
harm, for it arouses only a sense of injustice. 
These delayed punishments, with their it-hurts- 
me-more-than-it-hurts-you banalities, are abso- 
lutely psychologically wrong. The punishment, 
if it is to be at all, must be close to the 
offence. 

The same thing, of course, holds for rewards. 
The reward, like the punishment, must be im- 
mediate, and should generally be spontaneous 
— not offered in advance as a bribe. It should 
be some spontaneous, pleasant thing which hap- 
pens as a seeming part of the good thing the 
child has just done. A close association should 
be made with the preceding act ; the reward and 
the punishment should seem to fuse with the 
act, so that this shall carry, ever after, a pleas- 
ant or an unpleasant memory. 

As regards the comparative value of arti- 
ficially inflicted rewards and punishments, 
there is no question but that the former have 
the better psychological foundation. In trying 

147 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

to break a bad habit what we are really trying 
to do is to break up a certain undesirable brain 
pattern; but anything that calls attention to a 
pattern tends to emphasize it and make it 
stronger. It is as in advertising ; within certain 
limits even unfavourable comment is often re- 
garded as better than none. 

' * The mair they talk, I 'm kent the better, 
E 'en let them clash. ' ' 

In something of this same way, punishment will 
emphasize a brain pattern; and when the im- 
pulse to act comes again, this emphasized pat- 
tern is the one which presents itself and deter- 
mines the act. Of course if the child deliberated 
the result would be different, but the child does 
not deliberate; he acts on impulse, and realizes 
only when it is too late. The persistent man- 
ner in which children will repeat certain actions 
"in spite of all punishment" is thus partially 
explained. It is not in spite of, it is because of 
the punishment that the impulsive child so mis- 
behaves. 

The emphasis obtained by punishment is a 
poor preparation for the breaking of a bad 
habit. It is most assuredly and particularly 
wrong, too, when its purpose is to inspire to 

148 



EDUCATION 

better achievement. To rap a child's fingers 
will not make it love the piano; to punish for 
failure in lessons will not inspire a love for 
books. Nor should lessons be assigned as a 
punishment — this is fatal! The Puritans used 
to punish their children by making them read 
the Bible, and — New England turned Unitarian. 
Again there are many more ways of doing 
wrong than there are of doing right, and if pun- 
ishment be consistent it must also, necessarily, 
be too frequent. The child, being so constantly 
in disgrace and finding itself so often in the 
wrong, becomes sullen, antagonistic, and rebel- 
lious. Finally, punishment, in arousing the de- 
structive emotions of fear and anger, is dis- 
tinctly injurious to health. 

Rewards, on the other hand, emphasize the 
desirable patterns, and this is what we want. 
As a result, the desirable brain pattern becomes 
the working brain pattern, and the undesirable 
one is forgotten. By the reward, furthermore, 
the child is kept happy; pleasing emotional 
states are obtained, and these all work for the 
better health of the child. Digestion is im- 
proved; all physiological processes take place 
under the best possible conditions; and the 
child's behaviour is correspondingly bettered. 
So we go round in a happy circle — good be- 

149 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

haviour brings reward; reward makes for hap- 
piness; happiness makes for good health; and 
good health makes for good behaviour. Com- 
pare this with the vicious circle set up by pun- 
ishment ! 

Buskin says that the greatest efforts of the 
race are traceable to the love of praise. Praise 
is one of the most valuable of our rewards. 
Only brief comment is called for, the value of 
this powerful appeal to the elemental emotions 
is felt by all, and a warning only need be 
sounded. Do not indulge in unwarranted 
praise; limit your praise to that which is praise- 
worthy. Do not praise, in a normal child, that 
which is mediocre — above all, do not praise the 
result of indifferent effort. Where the effort 
has been great, praise the effort, no matter 
what the result; but do not praise the result 
unless it is well worth it. I know of no way of 
so quickly lowering a child's standards as by 
unwarranted, unearned praise. It is here we 
find part at least of the handicap under which 
the only, and the favourite, child labours. The 
vanity, the self-sufficiency, and the inefficiency 
of these unfortunates is largely due to the ad- 
miration with which their souls is constantly 
fed. The tendency of us all is to minimal ef- 
fort; we are only too ready to stop with that 

150 



EDUCATION 

which "will do." If what the child has done 
unsatisfactorily be praised, why should the 
child ever put forth effort to improve? 

Under one condition only may unearned 
praise be ventured upon, and that is when it has 
been previously very infrequent. When this is 
the case it is possible that, used judiciously, it 
may develop a spirit of emulation and thus lead 
the child to better endeavour. The child may be 
stimulated to compete with himself — this is true 
emulation — he may gain the desire to earn his 
own praise. The pleasure of successful compe- 
tition, healthfully enjoyed, always consists in 
the satisfying of one 's own ideals. Then, again, 
he knows in his heart that he can do better than 
he has already done. The praise for his slight 
achievement was a novel and pleasant experi- 
ence, and he determines to surprise people by 
showing them what he really can do. 

But we nearly all do tend to minimal effort 
and are satisfied with that which is good enough. 
We start with the typewriter, and we find that 
by the hover-and-search-with-one-finger method 
we can get our letter written — so we never 
learn a better way. Education, however, means 
work; the mind can not be developed health- 
fully in the luxury of praise alone. As well try 
to develop your legs by lying in bed and admir- 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ing them. Nothing can be developed unless re- 
sistance has to be overcome. The Montessori 
method — a pleasant mental massage which has 
been substituted for exercise — leads nowhere 
with a normal child, but to harm. Here is the 
handicap of the rich man's son, his coddling 
through life resulting, in all but the especially 
praiseworthy few, in a lasting pitiful disabil- 
ity. To work a boy does not mean that you are 
to make him a drudge; it means, simply, lead- 
ing him away from the too easy path of indo- 
lence ; inspiring him not to be satisfied with in- 
ferior ideals; praising that which is praise- 
worthy; and encouraging always to effort. In 
short, it means living his life with him, and 
guiding him, as unobtrusively as possible, with 
the light of your greater experience.* 

Indeed, rest is just as important as work, 
provided that the work has preceded. Studies, 
like food, must be digested before they can be 
assimilated ; and brain cells tire even more than 
do those of the muscles. Rest is essential for 
the mental digestion, as it is also for the cell 
recuperation. Note, too, that it is in the play 
time of the child that there comes your very 
best opportunity for the laying of his character 
habits. In play the child is really himself, and 

* Read Roosevelt's Letters to his Children. 

152 



EDUCATION 

it is in his play that he can be best studied and 
helped. 

Emerson remarks that no one can do any- 
thing well who does not esteem his work to be of 
importance. Here is a thought very pertinent 
to the desired attitude of the parent. Let what 
your child does be important to you, amd let him 
feel that you so consider it. I know of nothing 
which so helps, inspires, and urges on a child — 
yes, a youth, or a man, or a woman — as does 
this feeling that the work in hand is really im- 
portant to and appreciated by others. This 
may be accepted as a precept not only for 
parents but, also, for husbands and wives, and 
for brothers and sisters. If we can make an- 
other feel that his work is important to us, it 
promptly becomes important to him, and his 
effort becomes doubled, and happier, and better. 
Do not condole with your children because of 
their lessons! Do not say, "My! I am glad I 
don't have to study that!" Do not say, "I 
think your teacher is awful to ask so much." 
Do not say, "Never mind, this horrid school 
will soon be over — vacation will soon be here." 
Do not even tell them that you have forgotten 
all that you ever learned in school — keep that 
a secret; they may admire you, and if school 
knowledge is of no use to you, why then, they 

153 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

will reason, it certainly can be of no use to them. 
Children are often far more logical than they 
are given credit for. Their brain patterns are 
few, and their judgments are, therefore, gen- 
erally wrong, bnt they frequently use the pat- 
terns they do possess, to the best possible 
advantage. To the child all this means, simply, 
"My studies are of no importance; they are 
merely something unpleasant and silly, an inflic- 
tion of childhood, which must be lived through 
as best one may." What a fine incentive to 
study is this! Here is the teacher at school 
doing his or her best to rouse some sense of in- 
terest within the child, and here are the parents 
at home doing their best to negative the teach- 
er's endeavour. What chance has the teacher to 
win in such a contest? Practically none ; for the 
parent's suggestions are in the direction of 
ease and indifference, and coincide most hap- 
pily with the child's own inclinations. 

Just one word more in regard to our educa- 
tional attitude, one word as to what may be 
legitimately expected. Mental limitations are 
absolute. "Against stupidity the gods them- 
selves are helpless." Our standard of expecta- 
tion can not be that of attainment, as we can not 
know, positively, the child's capability. Our 
standard must be that very different one — the 

154 



EDUCATION 

measure of effort. The child's effort can be 
seen, there is no uncertainty here. Let this be 
the basis of your judgment of his work, and let 
this be that which you shall try to direct. Never 
mind the results — you must take your child as 
God (or you) made him. 

It should be noted, however, that this 
level beyond which, with ordinary incentive, 
your child can not go, does not represent the 
absolute limit referred to above. Under ex- 
traordinary stimulus he can go further. Then 
it is that we hear such remarks as, "I didn't 
know it was in him. ' ' Well, he did not know it 
either ; it was the supreme stimulus which made 
the supreme achievement possible. Witness 
what our boys have done in France, and the sur- 
prise which they themselves have often felt at 
their own actions. This supreme achievement 
does not belong to everyday life — do not expect 
it. The normal range of action is much lower. 
A man can not walk on tiptoe all the time. It 
is interesting, however, as revealing, in an exag- 
gerated form, the potency of the adequate 
stimulus. It is interesting, also, as a final re- 
minder that if your child fails it is yourself you 
should question — before you question him. 

As to education in its relation to social re- 
form, it is worth while to note that it can in no 

155 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

sense be regarded as a panacea. One man, A, 
may gain by education, but his superior, B, will 
gain more. In the end they retain their rela- 
tive positions ; B will still lead, and A will still 
be discontented with his lot. As a matter of 
fact, equalizing of opportunity in itself tends to 
accentuate differences, for under like conditions 
the superior man will always gain more than 
will the inferior, and will, therefore, always re- 
main an object of envy. It is not lack of abso- 
lute possession that makes a man unhappy, it is 
seeing how much more the other fellow has 
gained. One finds no superior men in the army 
of the discontented. The good of ordinary edu- 
cation, then, is in its benefit to the state, in the 
raising of the general social level. It has little 
bearing upon the happiness of the individual. 
This again throws us back to what has been so 
often said, that the education worth while for 
the individual is that which concerns itself with 
his habits and attitudes. All roads in psychol- 
ogy lead to this same goal. 






156 



CHAPTER X 

THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

Its Nature and Contents 

It is evident that at any one time we are using 
but a small portion of our available brain pat- 
terns. Only a small part of our mental store 
can be before us at any one moment of our 
existence. It is as with our eye vision, we see 
clearly only that upon which we focus. From 
this central point vision fades toward the mar- 
gin where lie but the vaguest suggestions of 
sight, and here, at the margin, it finally ends. 
Beyond the margin, however, there lies, we 
know, a vast world not now seen at all, but 
which, piecemeal, can be brought into vision by 
changing the direction of our gaze. In our 
mental field, likewise, we see only that upon 
which we focus, that to which we give our atten- 
tion. Beyond this appreciated field of our pres- 
ent consciousness lies the vastly greater field of 
unconsciousness, the field of the subconscious 

157 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

mind, where lie all the hundreds of thousands 
of experiences, brain patterns, and emotional 
potentialities which constitute our inheritance 
and our experience in life. " There are secret 
and individual parts in the nature of men, and 
mute conditions without show, sometimes un- 
known of their very possessors.' ' * 

But let us go a step further — our unseen 
world is not a dead world awaiting our regard 
before it awakens. It is with the mentally un- 
seen world of the subconscious mind as it is 
with the vast world unseen by our eyes. This 
subconscious, unconscious mind of ours is by no 
means the quiet storehouse it was once assumed 
to be — deep down in the unconscious mind things 
happen. It is a storehouse, it is true, but not 
one of mere inactive waiting. There is going on 
in the unconscious mind, though possibly in 
modified form, the very same processes that are 
known to our consciousness. An unconscious 
cerebration is there taking place, a modified ac- 
tivity corresponding in kind to that we have 
already studied. We store away experiences, 
but these do not necessarily, nor generally, 
remain isolated; they may, under certain con- 
ditions, form unconscious associations and 
undergo change, and when again brought to 

* Montaigne. 

158 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

consciousness may be altered beyond recogni- 
tion. To the old orthodox attitude the above is 
absurd. In the old conception, with soul-con- 
trolled thought, the unconscious is simply some- 
thing which is not. The poets and philosophers 
knew better. To them the unconscious has 
always been very real indeed, and so it is to the 
psychologists of today. The unconscious, it is 
believed, differs from the conscious merely in 
not being in focus, and in being incomparably 
greater and richer. 

We must add one concept more, namely this : 
that from the unconscious excursions take place 
into the conscious and have an effect on our 
conscious lives — that there is, in fact, a two- 
way connection between the conscious and the 
unconscious, a connection by no means always 
under the control of the will. Take a very sim- 
ple example of this. You are seeking a name ; 
you can not recall it; you finally abandon the 
quest and turn to something else. Suddenly 
the name comes to you — bobs up, as it were, 
from the unconscious into the conscious. While 
you were thinking of something else, the origi- 
nal mental process was continued in the uncon- 
scious, and there finally found the pattern 
sought. Or, more elaborately, we are striving 
to solve a problem, and can not, and give it up, 

159 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

and go to bed — and then wake in the morning 
with the answer clearly before us.* 

Does not this unconscious cerebration, which, 
it would seem, must be accepted, endorse the 
description of thought given earlier! Our pic- 
ture then was of a nerve force, the neurokyme ? 
which once set in action flowed here and there 
until it found the brain pattern which would 
solve the problem presented. 

The fact that the unconscious sometimes suc- 
ceeds better than our conscious effort is ex- 
plainable, probably, by the presence in the 
latter of a wilful control which may be mis- 
taken. Our conscious effort may be in the 
wrong direction, but we, nevertheless, obsti- 
nately hold to the path on which we have 
started. For example ; we are trying to recall 
the name of a man, and we feel sure that it 
begins with a B; so we keep harping on Brown, 
and Baker, and Bissel, and Black — hanging on 
to the B idea at all costs. But when we finally 
give over the search, the B idea gets dropped 
also, and the subconscious, left to work it out 
by itself, finally finds what we want — the man's 



* " We sleep, but the loom of life never stops ; and the pattern 
which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it 
conies up tomorrow." This from Henry Ward Beecher ! Though 
we must acknowledge that what he had in mind was quite other 
than the psycho-physiological phenomenon we are considering. 

160 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

name was Adams. We remember now that we 
met him in Boston, and that is, of course, where 
the B idea came from. 

These are examples of simple unconscious 
cerebration, and of recovery from the uncon- 
scious of facts lyiug, as it were, just beneath the 
surface. But this subconscious, unconscious 
region contains many, many other things than 
these temporarily laid aside items. In the un- 
conscious lie all the memories, impressions, and 
experiences of life; events of our childhood, 
things near, and far past; things we have 
put away until needed; things we have tried 
to forget, and things we have forgotten. 
Here, too, are things we do not know and 
may never know we possess — passing im- 
pressions which may never have registered 
in the conscious mind, but which were, never- 
theless, duly registered in the unconscious. 
Here, too, are our inheritances, our innate 
dispositions, our tendencies; some of them 
recognized by us at times; and some of them 
still but potentialities, their patterns never 
yet having been used, they never yet having 
received the stimulus necessary to set them in 
action. These last, we shall find, are impor- 
tant, for whether chance ever discovers them 
or not, they are there, and do surely affect, 

161 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

albeit unconsciously, our thoughts and our 
actions. Furthermore, being unsuspected, their 
control is neither sought nor obtained. 

We have reached now to a conception of a 
vast region of unconscious cerebration, from 
which arise impulses and influences which, 
whether they actually come to consciousness or 
not, do, still, profoundly affect our conscious 
lives. From this seething underworld of 
thought come many of the inhibitions, or stops, 
which obstruct our conscious acceptances, and 
from it, too, come many of our calls to action. 
We are influenced we know not, consciously, 
how nor why ; and we wonder at ourselves — it is 
the unconscious that is pulling ! 

This conception of the unconscious is not 
new, it is only the precise statement of it which 
is new. The poets have known it for ages, it is 
in this their truth lies; and the philosophers, 
with poetical minds, the only true philosophers, 
have endeavoured to express it in words. Phi- 
losophy, says Montaigne, is but a form of " so- 
phisticated poesie." Listen to Philosopher 
Browning : 

"So works Mind — by stress 
Of faculty, with loose facts, more or less, 
Builds up our solid knowledge : all the same, 
Underneath rolls what Mind may hide not tame, 
162 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

An element which works beyond our guess, 
Soul, the unsounded sea — whose lift of surge, 
Spite of all superstructure lets emerge, 
In flower and foam, Feeling from out the deeps 
Mind arrogates no mastery upon. . . . ' ' 



When the modern conception of the uncon- 
scious is first brought to our attention, there 
always arises this question — are we then, in 
fact, its slaves? No, most certainly not! For 
while we can not alter the unconscious within 
us, nor ignore its impulses and influences, we 
can learn to control these impulses, and make 
them subserve to useful ends. Browning not- 
withstanding, mind may arrogate some mastery 
over that which comes ' 'from out the deeps. " 

Here is the essence of the moral life — the 
drawing from this reservoir of good and bad, 
just that which is good. Here, indeed, lies the 
very reason for education, and here, also, the 
necessity for psychological knowledge on the 
part of the teacher. It is the understanding of 
the subconscious impulse which goes far to 
making a fascinating science of teaching. 
When a child won't learn, is stubborn and for- 
getful, or when he is eccentric and nervous, or 
wilful, the cause may easily lie in the uncon- 
scious mind, and, if understood, may be remov- 

163 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

able. Education is an effort at subconscious 
control, it aims at the mastery of the uncon- 
scious impulse. Or, to put it another way, edu- 
cation consists in the bringing out from the sub- 
conscious only that which is desirable and use- 
ful. Do not ask your child why he did so and 
so. He does not know — but you should! What 
is your child to be? He can not develop all of 
his inherited tendencies. He is descended from 
two parents, from four grandparents, and from 
eight great grandparents; in the tenth genera- 
tion there were one thousand and twenty-four 
ancestors, and from that generation to this he 
has had, inclusive, two thousand and forty-six. 
The guidance you owe him, in selecting his path 
in life, is education — and this consists, as we 
have just seen, in the development of the con- , 
scious control of his unconscious possessions, 
quite as much as it does in the forming for him 
of new brain patterns. 

The Mind Cure 

If we will recognize the influence of the con- 
scious on the unconscious mind, as stated in the 
last section, the question then rises — why 
should not the conscious mind also influence 
the unconscious act? We have conscious 
thoughts and conscious acts, and we have un- 

164 






THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

conscious thoughts and unconscious acts — are 
not these all necessarily connected 1 ? Conscious 
thought naturally results in conscious act, but 
we have just found that it also influences the un- 
conscious thought — why not, then, through this, 
the unconscious act? 

What do we mean by unconscious acts? 
They are many, especially those which we call 
physiological — those activities of the body by 
which, quite unconsciously to ourselves, life is 
maintained. Here we have the heart beat, the 
respiration, the digestion, and the glandular 
functions; and here we have all the thousands 
of chemical and physical reactions going on in 
the microscopic cells of our bodies — reactions 
which together make up the life of the body. 
Remembering that good health depends upon 
these physiological acts being carried out in the 
best possible manner, and that ill health results 
when they are improperly performed, it be- 
comes evident that in considering the influence 
of the conscious mind on the unconscious act, 
we are, in reality, considering that old question, 
the influence of mind over matter — and now 
especially in its physiological application, the 
mind cure. 

Fortunately we do not have to use a theoreti- 
cal approach to the subject; there is no room 

165 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

for argument; the experience is universal. We 
know that our conscious thoughts and our con- 
scious mental attitudes do affect at least some 
of these unconscious physiological acts, and if 
it be denied that they also affect others, the 
burden of proof falls naturally on the denier. 
"We know that certain thoughts will increase 
respiration and heart beat, and that certain 
others will retard these same acts. We know 
that happy thoughts favour digestion, and that 
unhappiness and worry impede it. We know, 
experimentally, that oxidation changes within 
the blood and tissues are modified by the con- 
scious emotional state, and, this being so, we 
have reason to believe that all those more 
subtile and multitudinous chemical and physi- 
cal reactions which go to make up life must be 
also affected. But these circulatory and other 
subtile reactions are, we know, what determine 
our health. The inference is unavoidable — 
health must be largely influenced by the mental 
attitude, and a change from an unhealthful to a 
healthful attitude must tend toward cure when 
disease already exists. 

We know little of all the intimate relations 
which must exist between the mind and the 
body, but certain of these we do know, and so 
important are they that based upon them alone 

166 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

there have been founded numerous cults of men- 
tal healing. I refer especially to the influence 
of fear and worry. The Christian Science 
cures, and the Menti-culture and miracle cures 
are all exhibitions of the influence I have 
claimed. These, and all other similar phe- 
nomena, whatever the jargon used, are based, 
in reality, upon the same scientific founda- 
tion. Christian Science is a fact, not a 
theory; and interest in it is common, whether 
this interest be expressed in sympathy or in 
scorn — the fact is that Christian Science gets 
results, and this outweighs all adverse criti- 
cism. We may resent the absurdities it 
preaches, but it can not be ' 'poofed' ' aside. 
A saner and more satisfactory attitude toward 
it is to try to apprehend the underlying truth, 
and separate this from the error. I say the 
Christian Scientist gets results — he does, both 
good and bad. Sometimes he is a murderer, 
and sometimes a suicide ; but then, again, some- 
times he is a blessing — however much his dis- 
guise. 

Let us turn for a moment to a consideration 
of cure. Most diseases tend to get well of them- 
selves — there is a strong proclivity, in this our 
habit-formed body, to get back to a normal 
habit and rhythm — but conditions, of course, 

167 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

must be favourable. In most of our "cures" 
what we really do is to aid in making the con- 
ditions right — it is nature that does the curing. 
We know the value of good and proper hygiene, 
of good and appropriate food; also, of appro- 
priate rest, or, it may be, exercise. These 
things being right, the body, unless profoundly 
disturbed, will generally manage to care for it- 
self. The physician's part is to give to the pub- 
lic the benefit of his special knowledge of the 
conditions most conducive to health. He may 
depend entirely upon hygiene, or he may admin- 
ister certain medicines which, in his experience, 
he knows will assist, or be needed to start, the 
restorative process. It may be that surgery 
will aid, or be necessary, but, even here, it is 
nature which will ultimately establish the cure 
— the surgeon merely removes some, maybe 
otherwise insuperable, obstacle. 

Whether it be by aid of surgery, medicine, 
hygiene, or food, the cure is effected by obtain- 
ing the favouring body condition. Now, as has 
been suggested above, one factor remains to 
be considered; and it may be safely asserted 
that in the generality of cases, whatever the 
means used, no other is quite so singly im- 
portant as is this — the mental attitude of the 
patient. That fear and worry, for example, 

168 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

make all improvement difficult, is a matter of 
common experience; and that cheerfulness 
and trust are helpful, we equally know. This 
is well recognized, and the physiological na- 
ture, even, of the influence is not now entirely 
unknown. The destructive emotion of fear has 
a direct influence on the adrenal and thyroid 
glands; substances are produced which, reach- 
ing the blood, if not at once used in flight or in 
fight, act as positive poisons. Fear has been 
described as an "unfled flight," or as a flight 
with the body in chains; the chemical state so 
produced is a toxic one, and most damaging to 
all healthful progress. 

All this is recognized, but the practical appli- 
cation of it is generally missed. We know per- 
fectly well that the mental attitude is important 
but we do not act on this knowledge ; we leave 
action to charlatans. The average physician of 
today retains the old conventional attitude; he 
is willing to grant, conditionally, that the mind 
may have some effect in "nervous diseases," 
but he is not willing to concede any influence in 
the grosser physical disturbances. To this kind 
of a doctor there seems to be some mysterious 
difference between nerve cells and other cells. 
When the latter are affected it is an "organic 
disease" ; when the former, why then it is "just 

169 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

nervous. ' ' It is this kind of a doctor, too, who 
is to be held responsible for these very cults he 
so much despises. Were the medical profession 
to recognize that mental influence which so 
many of the laity have discovered for them- 
selves, there would be but little room for the 
fakir. Nervous diseases are not alone, nor even 
especially, susceptible to the mental influence. 
If the truth of what has gone before be granted, 
it is clear that this influence must extend 
equally to all of the physiological acts of the 
body, and must be ever a powerful agent both 
in keeping us well, and in the restoring to health 
when needs be. Do not misunderstand this 
statement. It does not say that a correct 
mental attitude must always result in cure; it 
says, simply, that the mental attitude is one of 
the most powerful single aids to cure, and that 
it is comparable with, but may even excel in im- 
portance, most of the other measures of hy- 
giene. 

So real is this influence that it operates even 
in extremity. Incurable diseases are notably 
relieved by a healthful mental attitude, and the 
effect may be obtained up to the very hour of 
death. The dying Koman Catholic, after receiv- 
ing Extreme Unction, the last rite of the church, 
will often show, for a time, an improvement in 

170 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

condition — fear and worry as to the future hav- 
ing been replaced by gentle resignation and 
hope. On the other hand, when a very ill person 
gives up in despair, we know how quickly he 
will take a turn for the worse. 

A bad mental attitude may easily negative all 
other means used to restore a patient to health. 
Hygiene, good food and medicine may all prove 
impotent; the mental attitude may be so bad 
that cure can not be effected. Then it is we hear 
of "the poor sufferer, who has been ill for 
years, whom the best physicians have been 
unable to relieve," suddenly getting well under 
Christian Science treatment, or, maybe, by 
a visit to Lourdes, or to Ste. Anne de 
Beau Pres. When the mental attitude was 
changed, cure came. In this sense, Christian 
Science has "cured" disease, as it has, also, 
prolonged life in incurable cases. It is a 
curious state of affairs, however, that the 
underlying scientific fact should be denied by 
the Christian Scientists, and the actual benefit 
ascribed to the inanities of an illogical creed. 
It is like putting on a life-preserver and a medal 
of some saint, and then, finding that one does 
not sink, accounting for this fact by the medal. 
The truth is, the scientific mind is not common 
even among well-educated people. Here is an 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

observed fact, Mrs. Eddy explains it — the fact 
is there, so Mrs. Eddy must be right ! As has 
been said of one of their books, Christian 
Science contains much that is new, and much 
that is true ; but that which is new is not true, 
and that which is true is not new. In its re- 
ligious aspect it is an offence and an insult to 
reason, but underlying its "cure" is the scien- 
tific fact, we repeat it once more, that conscious 
mental attitudes do have an influence on the un- 
conscious physiological functions of the body, 
and hence must affect the course of both life 
and disease. The essential atmosphere of cure 
is a state of happy confidence, and the process 
is the same whether this be given to a physician, 
to the teaching of Mary Mason Baker Patterson 
Glover Eddy, or to a bone from the toe of some 
saint. 

I have just been reading an account of some 
cures by a man named Hickson. In these, as in 
all such, the true nature of the cure would seem 
to be apparent. One, who was paralyzed, can 
now wiggle his toes — but not yet walk. An- 
other, who was blind, can now distinguish light 
and shadow — but not yet form. Are not such 
improvements just such as would be expected 
from an improved mental attitude? How can 
they be considered, by a Christian, to be the 

172 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

result of divine intervention? Can God's 
power give motion to a toe, but remain inade- 
quate to completely restore health? Or is it 
that God has a scale of values for His services 
and that for so much faith He will give just so 
much cure? Such a god is not God the Creator, 
it is a little personal god, who stands ready, 
when sufficiently flattered by faith, to aid us to 
the best of his ability. The truth is, the im- 
provement in the face of incurable disease, 
noted above, is the natural effect of a new and 
inspiring stimulus calling forth a fuller, hap- 
pier, and more hopeful effort on the patient's 
part. 

What is the useful moral of all this? Be 
brave ! Be courageous ! Men are not influenced 
by things, says Epictetus, but by their thoughts 
about things. Try to eliminate from these 
thoughts all fear, worry, and anger. To use a 
phrase of Horace Fletcher's, emancipate your 
bodies, and give them a chance. If you succeed 
you will be as well as any Christian Scientist, 
and you will, moreover, have preserved and in- 
creased, not abandoned, your intellectual self- 
respect. 

It will be a matter of wonder to some that in 
treating of this subject I have said nothing of 
" suggestion," for with many it is this that 

173 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

first comes to mind when mental influences in 
health are referred to. It is a well thrashed ont 
subject — and it is precisely for this reason that 
I have preferred to dwell on a deeper and more 
fundamental relation. That suggestion plays a 
large part in many mind cures, can not be 
doubted; and especially is this true in the 
"nervous cases/' where "suggestibility" is 
often so prominent a feature. But it may be 
doubted whether the cure by suggestion is 
often a permanent cure. The fact that sug- 
gestion operates at all is in itself evidence 
of a certain degree of mental instability; 
and the effect, therefore, generally soon wears 
off. In hysteria specific symptoms may thus 
be easily removed; but the disease itself re- 
mains unaltered, and only too often the symp- 
tom so removed is quickly replaced by another. 
Still, suggestion is subtile, and its influence is 
probably more frequent than most of us realize. 
Certainly good suggestions must accompany all 
successful efforts in mental cure, and, in the 
broadest sense, they most probably underlie all 
that with which we have just been dealing. It 
is in this broader aspect that I hold suggestion 
important ; it is here but a step toward the at- 
tainment of the healthy mind. 



174 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

Mysticism 

We have been considering the interplay be- 
tween the conscious mind and the subconscious. 
Let us now consider what happens when the 
conscious control and conscious activities are 
lessened — either by deliberate intention, as in 
the voluntary contraction of the conscious 
field; or by a natural lowering, as in sickness, 
of that nerve force required for full conscious 
action. With the decrease of nerve force, the 
nerve voltage, the production of a vivid picture 
may become no longer possible ; touch and pain, 
and conscious perceptions generally, may fail 
to attain to a normal reality. The individual 
sinks to a lower plane, where reverie and 
imagination become as real as that which is 
directly perceived. There comes a sense of 
loss of reality — a sensation familiar enough to 
all who have suffered severe illness. 

It is this condition which has given rise to 
mysticism ; it is, in fact, this which is the mystic 
state — that seeing with closed eyes, as Plotinus 
has denned it. The threshold of conscious- 
ness, in the sense of wilful control, is lowered, 
and the subconscious pours in unimpeded. The 
perceptions of the conscious mind lose their 
normal strength; and portions of the subcon- 

175 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

scious, as in a waking dream, attain to the 
reality of the conscious. The individual can 
hardly distinguish between the two, and ends 
by not being able to distinguish at all ; he floats 
in a world half real and half unreal, and he can 
not say which is which. 

When this mystic state has been produced by 
loss of nerve energy, the feeling arrived at is 
generally one of insufficiency, of incomplete- 
ness, with, too, a sense of loss of the ego; but 
when the state is more or less a product of will, 
when the individual has deliberately contracted 
the conscious field, then the sense of insuffi- 
ciency may be lacking and only the loss of ego 
remain. Self here seems gone, and, with the loss 
of finite control, there enters a sense of the in- 
finite. Suppose now it happens that the indi- 
vidual who is experiencing this state has long 
been in the habit of concentrating upon Good, 
the life to come, and upon God — with the merg- 
ing of the finite into the infinite, it is the finite 
self only which is lost, and he finds himself, or 
thinks himself, glorified by this very fact. Now 
at last, he feels, he has come in some mysterious 
way into contact with another world, with the 
world of infinity; and it may even be, through 
his loss of sense of self, that he will believe his 
soul to have actually entered into holy commun- 

176 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

ion with the Godhead. This is religious mys- 
ticism — here are included all those mystic ex- 
periences which men here and there, of all races 
and climes and times, have shared in — Hindu, 
Buddhist, Mohammedan, and Christian. 

The Hindu Yogi is a disciple of mysticism 
who by the mystic insight has attained to 
Samadhi, the mystic of " superconscious ' ' state. 
Let me quote from the Bhagavad-Gita : * 

1 ' The Saint who shuts outside his placid soul 
All touch of sense, letting no contact through ; 
Whose quiet eyes gaze straight from fixed brows, 
Whose outward and inward breath are drawn 
Equal and slow through nostrils still and close ; 
That one — with organs, heart, and mind constrained, 
Bent on deliverance, having put away 
Passion, and fear, and rage; hath, even now, 
Obtained deliverance. . . . " 

So the Buddhist, by concentrated contempla- 
tion, seeks to attain Dhyana. He speaks of 
"elevated concentration, ' ' an intentness of 
meritorious thought, and finds it "noble, be- 
cause it brings one into the possession of the 
magical powers and other blessings.' ' In what 
is known as the Trance of Cessation, there are 
several stages corresponding to the degree of 

* Translation by Sir Edwin Arnold. 

177 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

contraction of the conscious mind. Starting 
with loss of desire, and of reason, one reaches, 
in the fifth and sixth stages, the true mystic 
state, described here as the realm of Infinity 
of Space, and the realm of Infinity of Con- 
sciousness. But the Buddhist goes on — the sev- 
enth stage is Nothingness, and the eighth is that 
of " Neither Perception nor yet Non-percep- 
tion," and the ninth is Cessation itself, just 
short of death and Nirvana. Buddhism is a 
pessimistic religion — all flesh is bad, and the 
final good in life is a state of nothingness or 
less. There is a shedding of all earthly rela- 
tions, a do-nothingness of both the conscious 
and the unconscious mind. The Christian mys- 
tic, on the other hand, abandons the conscious 
control only, and rests in the realms of infinity 
of space and of consciousness. He is carried 
upward in the rosy cloud of his dominant re- 
ligious aspiration, and is brought to a nearness 
with God. All secrets are unlocked — the Trin- 
ity, the purposes of God, the Godhead itself, 
are all understood — but, alas ! the experience 
remains an individual experience. The mystic 
feels but has no words with which to impart 
his knowledge. 

Physiologically many of the extreme mani- 
festations of mysticism are closely allied to 

178 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

hypnotism. The Buddhist priest, the Hindu 
Yogi, the Mohammedan Sufi, all use self-hyp- 
notism, limiting, by practice, the conscious ac- 
tivities of the mind until they can at will attain 
that passive state of suggestibility which is 
characteristic of the hypnotized subject. For 
the hypnotic state is a passive state, a state 
where wilful control is abandoned, and the re- 
sult is the same however this renunciation be 
accomplished, whether it be by outside sug- 
gestion, by "elevated contemplation, ' ' or by 
crystal gazing. 

We know that, from the subconscious, im- 
pulses may and do rise into the conscious mind. 
In the ordinary course of events we give no 
heed to the origin of these impulses ; they sim- 
ply merge with the conscious thought. When 
however, they are particularly strong, or even 
when, as compared with the conscious activity, 
they are only relatively strong, they come to us 
with a distinct sense of strangeness, or outside- 
ness, or, if one's mind runs in such a direction, 
of inspiration. If a man has a dominating, all 
controlling religious sentiment, and becomes 
conscious of the message from the subconscious, 
he has, he believes, been inspired by God. ' ' The 
Word of God came to me," "God spake to me," 
"God spake to Moses," are expressions of these 

179 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

impulses, these inspirations. Here is the es- 
sence of revelation. Isaiah was so inspired — 
Mohammed, also. The Morman, today, is under 
this same guidance; the head of his church is 
the prophet, the seer, the revelator. 

The prophets of the Hebrews were itinerant 
preachers; they were professionals, and they 
had followers who were students of their 
methods. They warned the people and the gov- 
ernors of the errors of their ways, and they 
spoke as men inspired. They were inspired — 
they were, in short, mystics, and spoke from 
that well of profound truth, the subconscious 
mind. The "bad prophets' ' were, maybe, those 
who were unable to obtain the true mystic in- 
sight, and who pretended and imitated only. 
To the former we owe much — above all, our con- 
ception of a spiritual God. The ancient Yah- 
weh, the national deity of the early Hebrew 
people, became, through the prophets ' teaching, 
Elohim, or God as we conceive God, an omni- 
present, omniscient, infinite, spiritual power. 

The Yahweh of the early Hebrews was a na- 
tional god; there was no idea, even with them, 
of his being the only God. Other nations had 
their own gods, but Yahweh was the Hebrew's 
god, or, rather, they were Yahweh 's chosen 
people. He was their monarch, they were his 

180 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

subjects. He was a jealous god, an angry god, 
a vengeful god. "I am Jehovah, thy God, who 
brought thee out of the Land of Egypt, out of 
the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other 
gods, before me." Here was a god who must 
be placated with sacrifice and ceremony, or he 
would crush the delinquent. 

Now mysticism, which I have spoken of as the 
valuable root of the prophets' teachings, does 
not lead to any such anthropomorphic concep- 
tion as this. It does not lead to a man god, but 
to a sense of infinity, to a sense of a limitless 
spiritual essence ; to a feeling concept, not to an 
intellectual one — this last can only be finite. It 
was this feeling, this sense of an infinite pres- 
ence, that the prophets brought to the Hebrew 
people. To it was given the name Elohim — God 
— and now, for the first time, the Hebrews be- 
came truly monotheistic, and entered upon that 
extension of belief which has made their re- 
ligion the background of our world-wide Chris- 
tianity. This is what we owe to the mysticism 
of the Hebrew prophets — who came down, like 
Christ, out of the north, into Judea. 



181 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Spiritualism and Telepathy * 

Mysticism, as we have seen, implies a lessen- 
ing of the conscious control, with incursions of 
impulses from the unconscious into the con- 
scious field. But these impulses may also reach 
consciousness without any such preliminary 
loss of control and without, therefore, produc- 
ing that sense of the infinite upon which mysti- 
cism depends. In this second type of case the 
sense of inspiration remains, but the experi- 
ence is interpreted as " psychic' ' rather than as 
divine. The sense is of the supernatural, and 
spiritual, but not of infinity, for the ego is re- 
tained and contact still held with the finite. 
Two worlds are now sensed as co-existing in 
time — the finite world of the conscious mind, 
and the supernatural, an outside world, also 
finite, of the spirit. 

The experience is common, more common than 
is that of the mystic state, and spiritualism, its 
product, is a matter of faith to the many. We 
are dealing here with a phenomenon as old as 
man, with a faculty of the mind which has 

* In using the title " spiritualism " to cover all of that which 
follows, I bow to custom, though, personally, I would prefer to 
observe the distinction made by Flournoy : " We must not confound 
spiritism, which is a pretended scientific explanation of certain 
facts by the intervention of spirits of the dead, with spiritualism, 
which is a religio-philosophical belief." From translation by H. 
Carrington. 

182 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

doubtless existed since the conscious activity of 
mind began. Nor is the belief in spiritualism 
likely ever to die away ; the inter-relation of the 
subconscious and the conscious must always 
persist, and it is hardly to be expected but that 
this relation shall ever remain more or less of a 
mystery to the masses. More than this — be- 
hind the faith there lies that powerful determi- 
nant, the Will to Believe ; a force so potent that 
the intellect itself bows before it. Spiritualism 
is an answer to man's most urgent interroga- 
tions, the wihat and how of the future, and as 
such it has swayed, and will sway, the minds of 
educated and ignorant alike. 

Looking at it from a slightly different angle, 
spiritualism is a response to a craving for sim- 
plification of thought; and it is curious to re- 
mark that the man of science is after this very 
same thing. Belief in and denial of spiritual- 
ism, in the last analysis, rest on the same in- 
herent demand of our minds. What the one 
explains by spiritism, the other explains by his 
materialistic monism, and, psychologically, 
neither can claim an advantage. Monism, as 
was said in the chapter on Thought, is a use- 
ful hypothesis but can in no sense be regarded 
as a demonstrated fact. The best that can be 
said for it is that it is nearer in form to other 

183 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

scientific findings than is the non-materialistic 
conception of the spiritist. 

"Why is it that spiritualism is so especially in 
the thought of the world today? The answer, I 
believe, is obvious, but let us put it in words. 

Death is a reality, accepted as such, and ap- 
preciated in a way, under certain conditions. 
As the end of a gradual dissolution, in old age ; 
or as the end of an illness where suffering and 
pain have long been inmates of the home, when 
patient and attendants have become mentally 
and physically fatigued and the idea of death 
has long hovered in the thought — then death 
comes, and is accepted. There follows, the 
funeral and the grave. Our beloved one is gone ; 
we have bade him goodbye; we have seen him 
depart; this is the end so far as this life is con- 
cerned. We accept, and turn now for consola- 
tion to those teachings of the next world to 
which we have been born, or in which, in times 
of calmer thought, we have learned to believe. 

But in war time, or in the blank aftermath of 
war, how different the situation! Here is 
Youth in fine vigour, full of ambition and 
worldly loves, and Youth marches away amid 
plaudits of enthusiastic encouragement; 
marches away, writes jolly letters home, and 
then — the letters cease. Is there any reality 

184 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

in death, here ? Such a death is incredible ; this 
living dynamo of immortal youth must be alive ; 
he can not be dead. We can not accept so 
vacant a thought. He is gone "over there' ' — 
and he must still be "over there,' ' or some- 
where, in all his same happy vitality. 

As an intellectual concept we do, of course, 
admit the death, but our feelings do not join 
our intellect in this supine acceptance. This 
youth must be alive even though he has, they 
say, departed this life. We know he must be 
somewhere, and we feel sure, even, that he will 
communicate with us if he can. The spiritualist 
says that he is here, that he is struggling to 
communicate with us — surely the spiritualist 
is right! I feel that what he says is true — 
don't talk to me of a vague, unknowable 
Heaven — this veil my boy has passed through 
does not open upon any such abstraction ! As a 
living spirit, here, in this world — yes, I can 
accept that, and I can enjoy and rest in this 
sweet thought. I thank God for opening my 
eyes ! 

To this, as a " religio-philosophical belief," 
there can be no scientific objection; but as to 
the phenomena which are supposed to endorse 
it, there is much to be said. 

Let us consider this matter. We know that 
185 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

impulses pass from the unconscious mind to the 
conscious; and we know that these impulses, 
if strong, carry with them a sense of outside- 
ness, of strangeness. These we have already 
considered from the standpoint of inspiration, 
and we know how real they have been, and are, 
as influences in the life of man. The prophets 
were so inspired, and so have we all been in 
some humble degree. It is the strength of the 
impulse, not its existence, that brings in the 
sense of the supernatural. 

Now what is true of wordless impulses and 
of ideas, so originating in the subconscious 
mind, is equally and more simply true of other 
mental reactions. Let the auditory area be 
sufficiently stimulated, and we hear; let the 
visual area be so stimulated, and we see; it 
does not matter whence the stimulation comes, 
whether over the usual afferent nerves of hear- 
ing and seeing, or whether entirely of internal 
origin. In the first case, however, we call the 
' ' affect' ' a perception, while in the latter we call 
it an hallucination. In the hallucination, then, 
the image is produced by internal stimulation 
and has no connection with the external world. 
Why then is it regarded as coming from out- 
side? As well ask why any true perception is 
so regarded. For consider again what has 

186 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

just been said — vision and hearing are due to 
stimulation, but it is the stimulation itself 
that is important, not its origin. Light 
does not pass over the optic nerve to the 
visual centre in the brain, a stimulus only so 
passes, a nerve impulse which excites certain 
brain cells to action. What we see is really all 
within our own heads ; it is merely our interpre- 
tation of the action of the brain cells. And the 
same is true of all we hear, smell, taste, and 
feel — the perception is a mental process, the re- 
sult of the activity of certain cells, regardless 
of the cause of that activity. There are brain 
diseases in which the patients are tormented 
by vile odours ; and there are others where 
voices, and sounds, and sensations annoy — all 
external in seeming, but all actually of internal 
origin. 

It is largely experience which establishes the 
normal projection of our perceptions into their 
proper position in space; we learn by experi- 
ence to locate the cause of our visions and other 
impressions as external to ourselves. Once 
established, however, the same judgment is 
habitually continued even when false. A rough 
parallel is found in the fact that a man may lose 
a leg by amputation, and suffer long after from 
pains in the foot that is gone, and the pains in 

187 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

this "phantom limb" may be quite as real as 
though the limb was still there. 

Stimulation, then, of a visual area, even 
when the stimulation is from within, will result 
in a mental picture which, if the stimulation be 
sufficiently vivid, will be interpreted as though 
it came, as normally, from an external source. 
Less vivid stimulation will result in a memory 
only. When we recall the appearance of the out- 
side of the building we are in, we excite, though 
only mildly, certain brain cells to action. Let 
these same cells be sufficiently stimulated and 
we would see the building. This vivid internal 
stimulation we can not accomplish by will, but 
it frequently occurs in disease. When in the ex- 
citement of a fever we become delirious, we see, 
hear, and live in a life entirely mental, but very 
real for us. Our world then is a world of ab- 
normally stimulated brain patterns ; the psycho- 
genic force is lowered; the conscious field is 
contracted; and the subconscious mind, stimu- 
lated by the toxins of the disease and by cir- 
culatory changes, comes strongly into play. 
The sensation is very differ ent from that ob- 
tained by the mild, partial stimulation of mem- 
ory. Delirium may be described as a turbulent 
action of the subconscious mind, a vivid stimu- 
lation with resulting images, uncensored by any 

188 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

conscious control. What has happened to most 
of us in fevers, others, the insane, experience 
daily. 

The hallucinations, illusions, and delusions of 
the fever patient, and of the insane, differ in 
no way, so far as their origin is concerned, from 
those of the honest spiritist medium — supposing 
such to exist. The latter is, of course, neither 
ill nor insane, but he does share with both of 
these classes the tendency to vivid subconscious 
stimulation. 

Practically all scientifically inclined spirit- 
ists, Lodge, et al., willingly concede the natural 
agencies which have here been spoken of, and 
they even recognize the frequency of fraud, but 
they contend that neither natural law nor fraud 
can explain all the phenomena observed. They 
assume that the medium is unable to restrain 
himself from the playing of tricks, 

[ *** -■'* - \> ^ * ~v* i ^^fmmxBw& 

"That's th' medium nature, thus they're made" * 

and that he, like the rest of us, only more so, 
is subject to the vagaries of the subliminal 
mind. Nevertheless, mixed in with all this, 
they say, is an occasional, veritable, supernatu- 
ral phenomenon. What the ultimate outcome of 

* Browning : Mr. Sludge, The Medium, q.v. for the last word on 
this subject. 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

their researches may be, it is hard to say. Even 
if we should concede all that they claim, i l when 
people come to understand that this sorting of 
messages [the true from the false] is almost 
beyond their power they will, perhaps, be put 
out of conceit with experiments in which they 
have ninety-nine chances against one of being 
duped, by themselves or others, and in which — 
a still more vexatious matter — if they should 
even be so fortunate as to light upon the hun- 
dredth chance, they would have no certain 
means of knowing it. ' ' * 

Men of science have believed in spiritualism 
— they are welcome to their belief, but this, it 
should be recognized, has no real weight as an 
endorsement. Belief in spiritualism is an " over 
belief' ' such as any one is entitled to; it is not 
denied by science, but neither is it based upon 
any scientific foundation. To the psychologist, 
of course, it is interesting as a mental phe- 
nomenon, but to scientific men in general it is 
usually a matter of indifference so foreign it is, 
and so unpromising a field for research. 

One elemental guiding rule in science is to 
accept no occult, supernatural explanation for 
that which can be satisfactorily and simply ex- 

* Flournoy, in From India to the Planet Mars. See Spiritism and 
Psychology. Translated by H. Carrington. 

190 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

plained by natural law. All "spiritual phe- 
nomena" may be so explained. There is noth- 
ing to suggest that there are any other processes 
involved in so-called spiritualism than those 
of known brain action. The seeing of spirits, 
the hearing of spirit voices, are simply mani- 
festations of the subconscious mind — when not 
the result of a trick. The performances of the 
ouija board and automatic writing in general 
are, in the same way, motor performances done 
under subconscious control. When a scientific 
man comes to believe in spiritualism it is be- 
cause he has, within a certain "reserved area" 
of his mind, yielded to his emotional inclina- 
tion. Under the influence of the "will to be- 
lieve" he has gradually dropped the critical 
attitude which belongs to science; and he has 
arrived where he is, not by applying scientific 
methods, as he often claims, but by abandoning 
them. As has been said, he is welcome to his 
belief — if he will but drop his cant concerning 
science. There is nothing in spiritualism which 
may not be true— it is simply not proven, nor 
even scientifically suggested. Eeason must be 
limited to that which can be demonstrated ; what 
lies beyond, reason should neither deny nor 
endorse. 
When we recall the strangeness of many of 
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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

the psychic phenomena, they may seem a heavy 
burden to place upon the subconscious mind, 
but let us turn back to the first section of this 
chapter and consider again the nature of the 
subconscious contents. There will be found 
many strange things— ' ' things unknown of 
their very possessors.' ' 

Let me give one example, an old, but a good 
one. A young, illiterate, peasant woman, dur- 
ing the crisis of a nervous breakdown, recited 
fluently in Latin, in Greek, and in Hebrew. 
After long inquiry it was finally ascertained 
that she had once served as a servant for a 
learned pastor whose custom it was to walk up 
and down, in a passage way of his house, read- 
ing aloud from his favourite authors. It was 
these fragmentary phrases, floating in through 
the open kitchen door, which the girl, without 
the faintest understanding, had received and 
registered in her unconscious mind. How 
eagerly the Society for Psychical Research 
would have welcomed this wonder! Fortu- 
nately she happened to be a hospital case. 

I have said that all the experiences of 
spiritualism are easily explained by science. 
There are, however, certain allied manifesta- 
tions to which science can give no entirely satis- 
factory explanation. I refer to telepathy, and 

192 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

to thought transmission in its varied forms of 
clairvoyance, somnambulism, and mental sug- 
gestion. Whether we are, or are not, here in the 
presence of an unknown force, I do not know. 
The evidence is extremely difficult to value, and 
the judicial attitude very difficult to maintain. 
Those who "account for" psychical phenomena 
simply by denying their existence, do so with 
vehemence — with a vehemence derived from 
their dislike of the supernatural — but this 
vehemence is, in itself, also, evidence of their 
own unscientific prejudice. Why bring in the 
supernatural at all! Is it not possible that we 
may be here in face with a natural law as yet 
undiscovered, a natural force as yet only par- 
tially recognized? It would certainly be un- 
scientific and presumptious to deny the possi- 
bility that such a force may exist. To deny its 
possibility would be to seat ourselves with Gali- 
leo J s judges.* 

We know many things in nature very imper- 
fectly, and of causes we know practically noth- 
ing. It may thus easily be, as Flammarion long 
ago has claimed, that there is existing a 
"psychic force" known to us, so far, only by 

* To quote from the heading of a chapter by Flammarion, " On 
Incredulity." 

" Croire tout decouvert est une erreur profonde 
C'est prendre Thorizon pour les homes du monde." 

Lamartine. 

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PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

its occasional results — an unknown force ema- 
nating from the human being, and capable of 
making itself felt at a distance. This possi- 
bility we will concede, but let us be on our 
guard — the possibility of an unknown force is 
in no way evidence that such a force exists. 
Such a conclusion would be as illogical as is 
that of Sir Oliver Lodge, who argues that be- 
cause science presents marvels to the uniniti- 
ated layman therefore spiritualism ought to be 
believed in. 

Inexplicable phenomena are common — why? 
For two reasons: either we do not have all 
the facts necessary for the explanation, or the 
phenomenon is produced according to laws not 
yet discovered. Into which of these categories 
telepathy is to be placed will depend on the 
bias of the reader. We can all recite numerous 
interesting experiences, some of them, maybe, 
at first hand. My mother came down to break- 
fast one morning announcing that her brother, 
of whom she had had no recent knowledge, was, 
she knew, in great trouble. Before breakfast 
was ended we received a telegram telling of 
the brother's sudden death during the night. 
Again, while I was studying medicine in Edin- 
burgh, a similar presentiment had led her to 
have my father cable for information as to my 

194 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

health. The "very day and hour" my mother 
had her presentiment of trouble, I was — in per- 
fect health and contentment, and so continued. 
A certain philosopher, on being shown the 
thanks-offerings in a temple to Neptune, in- 
quired, "Where are those commemorated who 
never came back?" The fact is, in things of 
this kind, as Bacon says — men mark when they 
hit, not when they miss. 

Fortuitous coincidence is doubtless account- 
able for many of the telepathic phenomena. 
One distinguished psychologist, as the result of 
thousands of experiments, has decided that 
telepathic "successes" do not exceed that which 
might be expected from the mathematical prin- 
ciples of chance. It would seem, however, that 
this investigator has proved too much. For 
what is chance f It is certainly not always what 
the mathematician means by the term. What 
we call chance in life is often the definite result 
of unrealized causes. This being so, results in 
telepathy should exceed the mathematical ex- 
pectation, for many of the successes there are 
doubtless due not to true chance but to causes 
which may be ordinary enough, though hidden 
and unnoticed. 

There are undoubtedly simple explanations 
for much that at first seems strange. A pre- 

195 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

monitory dream, for instance, at first thought 
seems impossible of scientific explanation — but 
is it ? May it not be, after all, simply a shrewd 
estimate of that which may happen, the result 
of a subconscious inductive process? 

Let me illustrate by taking examples from 
everyday life. These will not be interesting, 
but they are important because it is largely 
upon such personal experiences that our readi- 
ness to believe in the more remarkable is based. 

You have not heard from nor thought of a 
certain friend for a long time; he comes to 
your mind, and you sit down and write to him ; 
he does the same by you, and the letters cross. 
Now the cause of this mutual thought may be 
simple enough. It may be a season of the year 
with some mutual association; the time of some 
former trip together, or of an important meet- 
ing. It may be a month in which something 
once happened of mutual interest ; or some com- 
mon friend may have recently died, or mar- 
ried, or eloped. It may be that some event 
has been recorded in the newspapers which you 
know would interest your friend — he sees the 
same, and knows that it would interest you. Or 
it may be any one of a hundred things which 
have a sufficient content of common interest to 
turn one's thought to the other. Note, too, that 

196 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

the connecting link may have been unconsciously 
registered in the mind — in none of these cases 
need there be the slightest conscious recognition 
of their suggestive nature ; the appreciation of 
the suggestion may remain entirely subcon- 
scious. 

Again, you are in a department store and 
you suddenly come face to face with a friend, 
and you exclaim, "Isn't it funny? I was just 
thinking of you." What may have happened 
is that you have already seen your friend, and 
did not know it. You have passed her standing, 
maybe, at a counter ; and you have caught, quite 
unconsciously, a glimpse of her — but only a 
glimpse, not sufficient to register a recognition 
in the conscious mind, though quite sufficient to 
produce a subconscious registration, and thus 
start a train of thought. Crypt op sychism is the 
term which has been suggested to cover these 
hidden, unobserved perceptions and memories, 
which, though unregistered consciously, still 
govern our actions. 

Now these cryptopsychic experiences are 
often called telepathic, and, as I have said, they 
truly do prepare our minds for belief in 
telepathy in general. On the other hand, if 
these have an ordinary explanation, is it not 
possible that the more remarkable psychic phe- 

197 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

nomena may have the same — if only the facts 
could be known? 

There is one feature of this question which 
remains to be spoken of, namely, the difficulty 
in obtaining true testimony. In all honest ef- 
forts to record telepathic and spiritual experi- 
ences great stress is placed upon the credibility 
of the witness. But the fact is that no witness 
is entirely credible. The best intentioned, neu- 
tral witness will make many mistakes, and when 
the witness is not neutral, when he has a bias, 
even though he still be well intentioned, he will 
make many more. This is not pleasant, but it 
is true. Many tests have been made along this 
line, and always with remarkable uniformity 
of result. Professor Swift says : "Experiments 
have proved that, in general, when the average 
man reports events or conversations from mem- 
ory, and conscientiously believes that he is tell- 
ing the truth, about one-fourth of his statements 
are incorrect." Miinsterberg reports a test in 
which leading men of affairs took part. A 
simple episode was enacted in a broker's office; 
there were but four actors, and the entire in- 
cident occupied but a few moments of time. 
Not one of the twenty lawyers and bankers 
present was able afterwards to describe, in its 
essentials, what had actually taken place. The 

198 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

majority made from fifty to sixty per cent of 
omissions, and substituted so many false de- 
tails, that in many of the reports a third of the 
description was contrary to fact. It is a pity 
that we can not return to the old Koman custom, 
which prefaced all testimony with the phrase, 
1 ' It seemeth unto me. ' ' 

The reasons for this, so important, peculiar- 
ity or weakness of mankind, may be gathered 
from our earlier chapters — we may recite them, 
again briefly, as follows : emotion and bias, un- 
certainties of perception, the influence of the 
will to believe, the power of suggestion, hind- 
thought and elaboration to fit it, and the imagi- 
native filing of expected details. When we 
come to the recounting of experiences in 
spiritualism and telepathy, these influences will 
be found to be specially active. The truth is 
that most people who retail spiritual and tele- 
pathic experiences believe in them, and want 
you to believe in them; their stories lose noth- 
ing in the telling — indeed they improve; weak 
points discovered in one recital are corrected 
or eliminated in the next. It is human nature ; 
the intention is not necessarily dishonest. The 
teller of marvels wants his audience to experi- 
ence what he has experienced, so if his first 
telling does not produce the desired thrill, the 

199 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

next time he tells it he improves it. He falsi- 
fies it to make it more true. 

Briefly then, in summary, the position of the 
man of science is that, while there is no scien- 
tific reason to deny spiritualism, it is unneces- 
sary, and unprofitable, and unreasonable, to 
seek for supernatural causes for that which 
known laws are adequate to explain. This he 
believes to be the case with all the so-called 
spiritual phenomena. The visions, the voices, 
the sense of presence, all follow known laws 
governing the action of the human mind. It is 
man's desire for an after-world within his com- 
prehension ; it is his desire to remain in contact, 
even if only spiritually, with a finite world — 
this is what gives rise to belief in spiritualism — 
this, and the fact that the impulses from the 
subconscious mind must always remain strange 
and inexplicable to the uninitiated. As regards 
telepathy, we grant that there may be a natural 
psychic force, as yet unknown, but we reserve 
our opinion. Very little evidence of sufficient 
scientific value to warrant study has as yet 
been presented; and when sufficient data have 
been obtained, the so-called psychic experience 
has invariably proven either a fraud, or the 
product of an already known law. However, 
credulity and incredulity are equally vicious; 

200 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

the scientific mean should be of a sort of judi- 
cious diffidence. 

No attempt has been made to correlate and 
describe all the "psychic phenomena/ ' They 
are multiform, but, nevertheless, all are fairly 
well grouped under the two heads given, the 
spiritual, and the telepathic. And these, too, 
are intimately related, for telepathy has been 
used to explain spiritualism, and spiritualism 
has been used to explain telepathy. Hyp- 
notism, of course, plays a large and important 
part, especially in the spiritist seance. 

One complication should be mentioned, in 
closing, and that is the possible presence of 
mental disease. Belief in spiritualism under- 
goes remarkable exaggerations when combined 
with paranoia, and other mental derangements ; 
and churches, even, have been founded by these 
victims of delusion. 

Truth o/>id the Subconscious Impulse 

To thousands of mystics, the world over, the 
mystic world is the true world, and that which 
we know only in the normal consciousness is the 
artificial and limited world, and something to 
be rid of. Even where there is no such extreme 
belief, the opinions which originate in the sub- 
conscious, the result of subconscious incuba- 

201 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

tion, are the opinions we most cherish, no 
matter how foolish they may be. They are the 
ones we believe in most, while those which have 
purely intellectual value have really but little 
weight in our decisions. We must feel, as well 
as know, before we are convinced. Thus, I 
know, intellectually, that one of the chief causes 
for the high cost of living is in the inflation of 
the currency, but I have nothing in my sub- 
conscious inheritances to make me feel this fact, 
and it therefore remains to me of but little 
force — I forget it constantly, and seek some 
other, more emotional, cause. 

We tend to hold on to these subconscious 
ideas as something belonging peculiarly to our- 
selves, as part of self, and we maintain them 
even against our own criticism. The reason for 
this is that measuring very large in the sub- 
conscious are the innate dispositions, our in- 
heritances from the past; and here, too, lie all 
our subconscious acceptances of the mores, our 
group customs, as well as our earliest ac- 
quired habits. Now innate dispositions, feel- 
ings and emotions, temperamentally influenced, 
and adjusted to our mores, constitute the very 
essence of self. All so founded must neces- 
sarily command our utmost respect — these are 
the things which are true for us. 

202 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

And yet, often the overcoming of an innate 
tendency gives us a very special sense of satis- 
faction, and of pride in our ego. How is this, if 
our real ego is that which exists in the uncon- 
scious mind, and itself inc'udes the innate 
tendencies! The explanation of this seeming 
contradiction lies in the fact that it is not the 
conscious mind alone which has established the 
victory, but rather the self-regarding senti- 
ment, which, itself, has its roots deep in the un- 
conscious. What has happened is that the self- 
regarding sentiment has condemned this certain 
innate tendency, has judged it to be alien to its 
conception of the whole, and has, with all the 
strength of both its conscious and unconscious 
elements, determined to eliminate it. The satis- 
faction arising from this renunciation, success- 
fully carried out, is due to the greater harmony 
of the mental complexes remaining ; and follows 
the general rule that the physiological pleasure 
of a completed act is always in proportion to 
the absence of conflicting desires and im- 
pulses. 

' ' Truth is within ourselves ; it takes no rise 
From outward things, what e'er you may believe. 
There is an inmost centre in us all, 
Where truth abides in fulness; and around, 
203 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in, 
This perfect, clear perception — which is truth. 

. . . And to know 
Rather consists in opening- out a way 
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape, 
Than in effecting entry for a light 
Supposed to be without. Watch narrowly 
The demonstration of a truth, its birth, 
And you trace back the effluence to its spring 
And source within us; where broods radiance vast, 
To be elicited ray by ray, as chance 
Shall favour: 

Bkowning: Paracelsus. 

It is a strange fact that while the subconscious 
emotional complex so largely determines our 
thought, maintaining itself against all the as- 
saults of cold reason, we nevertheless do not 
like to be reminded of this control. While we 
really feel our decisions, we like to consider 
them as having been reached by purely intel- 
lectual processes. We dignify thought in our 
minds at the expense of our feeling, though we 
actually follow the latter and find it, only, true. 
We feel a thing, and believe it, and then try to 
find a reason for our belief, a thought to ex- 
plain it — and then we say we have believed it 
hecause of this thought! It is the same with 

204 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

our actions. Listen to a boy trying to give a 
reason for some act he desires to perform. 
Consider the cant about going to war "to make 
the world safe for democracy "! 

It is the subconscious feeling which fixes the 
truth for us of any proposition worth caring 
about — in others, more trivial, we let reason 
decide. No wonder, then, faith is unassailable, 
for faith is of the subconscious mind. The sub- 
conscious mind is the heart, in our manner of 
speech — that which is felt in the heart, that 
which comes from the heart. This unconscious 
hidden part of us, which we have so generally 
disregarded in favour of its modern off-shoot 
the conscious mind, is really our most cherished 
possession. 

I trust that, in tracing the source of faith, 
and of spiritual aspirations generally, to the 
subconscious mind, I shall not seem to you to 
be robbing these great life forces of their value. 
That they are great forces, that they are worthy 
determinants of man's best conduct, is a matter 
of experience requiring no proof. As an ex- 
ample in parallel, the historical criticism of the 
Bible has taken away nothing but the concep- 
tion of its supernatural writing; it has not 
taken away belief in the Bible as a source of 
consolation and guidance. As one devout Chris- 

205 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

tian recently wrote, but a short time preceding 
his death, the Biblical criticism in removing 
"the burdensome obligation of attempting to 
defend as errorless everything found in the 
Bible . . . [has set man] free to concentrate 
his attention upon its spiritual appeal.' ' * 

So, in seeking the roots of spiritual force 
within our own minds, we should not feel that 
we are in any way lowering this force, as some 
have asserted, to a mere mechanical product of 
material origin. It may be that the power of 
God has chosen just this point of entrance into 
our lives; and that, as James has suggested, 
this subconscious continuance of our conscious 
mind may be really but the hither side of a vast 
unrevealed world of unknown force. Neither 
conscious effort, nor unconscious, can attain to 
the ultimate truth of life. "We are born to 
seek after truth — to possess it belongs to a 
greater power.' ' 

"The ladder lent 
To climb by, step and step, until we reach 
The little foothold-rise allowed mankind 
To mount on and thence guess the sun's survey — 
Shall this avail to show us world-wide truth ? ' ' 

Browning. 

* The late Howard S. Bliss, D.D., formerly head of the Protestant 
Syrian College of Beirut. The quotation is from the Atlantic 
Monthly, for May, 1920. 

206 



THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND 

Life is like the passage of a bird through a 
lighted room. Flying in from the darkness, it 
abides a moment, and then vanishes into the 
night whence it came. So said, once, a Saxon 
thane to his king, and, today, from the stand- 
point of knowledge, we have nothing to add. 
What may lie on the far side of the subcon- 
scious, we do not know, but, personally, I be- 
lieve it to be real. 



207 



CHAPTER XI 

MENTAL ILLS 

Abnormality 

Abnormality, as regards the individual, con- 
sists in any departure, in mental state or reac- 
tion, from that average which is fonnd in the 
mass of society. It includes such varying types 
as the idiot, the imbecile, the man of affairs, the 
genius,the diseased and physically deficient, and 
the insane. From the social standpoint, the 
abnormal is one who is unable, or unwilling, to 
adapt himself to the society in which he lives. 
He is one who has failed to make the required 
social adjustment; who is, in a word, socially 
inadequate. The classes here are as with the 
individual, though men of genius, inventors and 
originators — men of supermentality — might be 
better and more practically described as socially 
unusual, rather than as abnormal. If not amen- 
able to all the social conventions, they are, at 
least, to the social necessities. 

In this review the mental causes of abnor- 
208 



MENTAL ILLS 

mality will alone be considered, and, of these, 
especially the border-states, those nearest to 
the normal. Here we shall find the greatest 
practical problems. 

We say of a man that he ia eccentric and 
queer — what do we mean ? Well, we may mean 
any of a hundred things. He may be deficient 
in brain development, and consequently prone 
to childish decisions. He may have an illy bal- 
anced inheritance of emotional reactions, or he 
may be lacking in some of these same ; or he may 
have but slight power of fusing his emotions, 
and thus be always "flying to extremes.' ' He 
may have the reverse of all this ; he may have 
an exceptionally large number of associations, 
and, therefore, be unduly imaginative. His 
emotional inheritances may be excessively 
strong, either in part or in whole; or his emo- 
tions may fuse, but in unusual ways. This is 
merely touching on the possibilities — the nerve 
responses may be uncommonly quick, or uncom- 
monly slow; the sentiments may be peculiar, 
too all-embracing, or too narrow, or illy bal- 
anced and conflicting. Other variations will 
make for the more desirable attributes. In 
short there are endless varieties, and to call a 
man abnormal does not specify him at all, it 
merely places him as a member of a very large 

209 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

class, and leaves his real nature still undeter- 
mined. 

"Abnormal tendencies of mind are disposi- 
tions toward extreme or irregular functioning, 
marked enough to appear in the ordinary run 
to situations. . . . " * We all tend to do queer 
things in extraordinary situations; it is queer- 
ness in ordinary situations which makes for 
what we call abnormality. True normality, psy- 
chologically speaking, is very close to medi- 
ocrity. It presents a picture of almost auto- 
matic life — every one doing things in the same 
way. It is a matter of congratulation (to quote 
Jastrow, again) that we are not all "hopelessly 
sane — irrevocably bound to routine responsive- 
ness, immune to all inspiration, fated to a bare, 
regular, simple treadmill routine of conduct.' ' 
If we were so bound we should have no artists, 
no poets, no writers, no musicians, no students 
even, and certainly no saints. Bather than to 
lose all these we can easily afford to risk a few 
sinners. 

Among the desirable expressions of abnor- 
mality, we must place the tendency to "carry 
on/' a persistency of attitude in thought and 

* Joseph Jastrow : Character and Temperament. But to the 
above Dr. Jastrow adds, " or at the more critical periods of de- 
velopment or stress." I have quoted the passage only so far as 
it serves my idea. 

210 



MENTAL ILLS 

action which brings results in spite of obstacles ; 
a tendency very different from that so common 
to many of us and so deadening to progress, by 
virtue of which we tend to avoid all unpleasant 
effort. Again, the nervous man is the trouble- 
finder of this world, as well as the trouble-taker, 
and he thus becomes the forerunner, if not the 
actual elaborator, of improvement.* 

And now the other side! Of course we can 
have nothing in this world without paying for 
it — these heightened sensibilities and dispro- 
portionate reactions may end in catastrophe, 
and this " carrying on" may result in exhaus- 
tion. The nervous man walks a very narrow 
path, and it is almost a "toss up" whether it 
shall lead him to success and to honour, or 
whether he shall fall into the mire of illness, or 
disgrace. 

Neurasthenia and Hysteria 

Neurasthenia, or nerve exhaustion, in its sim- 
plest form, is a fatigue superinduced by worry. 
It is the fatigue of a nervous man, a worrying 
man, one who has carried on to excess. Work 
without worry leads only to a fatigue which 
can be recovered from by the simple process of 

* Wilfred Lay, op. cit. 

211 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

rest. But why qualify the statement? All 
fatigue can be recovered from by rest — the 
trouble with the worrying man is that he can not 
get that rest. When a worrying man with sensi- 
tive nerves, or, maybe, with a deficient nerve 
force, works beyond his safe limit, the result is 
an ill man, an exhausted man, a man with nerve 
exhaustion. Furthermore, as the nerves deter- 
mine nearly everything else in the body, this 
man with the nerve exhaustion will have a lot of 
other things too — quickly fatigued muscles and 
mind, a poor digestion, heart troubles, head- 
aches and backaches, and so on, beyond com- 
putation. Worry and dyspepsia are two cute 
little beings which nearly always trip-it along 
hand in hand. 

In the more pronounced cases of neuras- 
thenia, those which drag on for months and 
years despite physical rest and good hygiene 
and removal of all evident worries, we must 
look for other causal factors. These may be 
found in glandular and other organic defects, 
or in toxic states — poisoning of the system from 
local foci of infection, the teeth, the tonsils, or 
hidden abscesses. Or, and of this only shall I 
speak, the trouble may be in the subconscious 
mind of the victim, in the existence there of 
mental conflicts which by their presence prevent 

212 



MENTAL ILLS 

that harmonious mental action which good 
health demands. 

Where are these conflicts — in what do they 
consist! I have spoken of our storing away in 
the unconscious things we had no immediate 
use for, but intend to use some day — we put 
there other things, too, things we do not want 
at all, which we would be glad to be rid of, and 
which we truly hope never to see again. For in- 
stance, a certain experience comes to us ; it is a 
shocking experience; we can not fit it in with 
our other experiences ; and so we bury it — shove 
it down deep into the unconscious. At least we 
try so to do, and we may succeed, we may for- 
get it; or, we may leave it just below the sur- 
face where it remains only partially covered. 
But whether deeply buried or only partially 
buried, this shocking experience, be it noted, 
still retains, like all the rest of the unconscious, 
its power of influencing the conscious mind. 
Our conscious effort may get it out of our con- 
scious life, but it will remain in the uncon- 
scious, a source of irritation and of contradic- 
tion, and of interference with the harmonious 
workings of the mind — a source, in short, of 
conflict. In the majority of cases of neuras- 
thenia it is with the conscious or semiconscious 
worry that we are concerned, the worry in the 

213 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

background of our thoughts, which keeps nag- 
ging away until we are fairly distracted — the 
deeper conflicts, the truly unconscious worries, 
if we may use such an expression, tend to other 
disorders. No harmonious action of mind can 
be possible with these unsolved problems always 
in troublesome evidence. Every action and 
every thought becomes fatiguing; will and ef- 
fort are required to effect them — no wonder 
the man breaks and becomes ill ! It is the con- 
sciousness of an act that fatigues, while au- 
tomatism makes for rest. Become deliberately 
conscious of any movement and the muscles 
soon tire. When a novice in public has occa- 
sion to walk before an audience, his walking 
becomes conscious and difficult — so here, in 
neurasthenia, all action quickly leads to exhaus- 
tion. 

There are opposing schools of thought in 
medical practice — to one the buried conflict is 
everything, to the other the organic basic alone 
is important. But why try to force all cases into 
one class? Nature and science do not readily 
lend themselves to arbitrary classifications, 
though, unfortunately, quasi-scientists do ! The 
fact, as we have it in neurasthenia, is the exist- 
ence of the exhausted nerves — a state of exhaus- 
tion which can not obtain that rest which good 

214 



MENTAL ILLS 

health requires. Whether this condition be due 
to an inherent nerve weakness, to an organic 
irritation, to a glandular disturbance, or to a 
toxemia, or whether it be due to an unsolved 
mental problem, it will be the duty of the wise 
physician to determine. 

In hysteria we again meet the buried com- 
plex, and here the advocates of this theory are 
especially at home. The conflicting problem, in 
hysteria, is conceived to be deeply buried, mean- 
ing by this, literally, that it is something so 
foreign to our other experiences that we sim- 
ply can not tolerate it at all, and so we inhibit 
it, shut it off, with all of our power, from reach- 
ing consciousness. Or, the problem is due to 
some innate hidden tendency which has not been 
properly oriented with our conscious life and, 
for this reason, has been prevented from ex- 
pression. The buried complex, however, con- 
tinues its influence and does make itself mani- 
fest, but, in hysteria, only after having under- 
gone change into some form less antagonistic to 
our conscious life. The force of the impulse 
must find expression; it can not do so in its 
original form, so it becomes converted into a 
new and, to the personality of the individual, 
a more acceptable form. Unpleasant enough 
this new form may be, but it is at least a pos- 

215 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

sible form, not impossible as was the origi- 
nal. 

The Freudians claim that the buried complex, 
or impulse, is always one of sex. Others, who 
have only partly accepted Freud's teachings, 
find that amy ordinary, natural, primitive im- 
pulse, if sufficiently foreign to our conscious 
intention, may be equally a source of conflict — 
the fear complex, for example, which was so 
frequently the cause of hysterical breakdowns 
during the war. 

Let us consider one form of " shell-shock, ' ' 
as a first example of what we mean by hysteria. 
Two men go to the Front. They have had sev- 
eral months of hard training under conditions 
foreign to all previous experience, and, we will 
say, foreign to their desires. From the mo- 
ment of their induction into the service they 
have been under nerve strain; they are non- 
militant by nature, and have no real disposition 
for war ; the position they find themselves in is 
due solely to patriotism, or to the draft. Deep 
in their souls lies buried primitive fear — not 
fear of death, maybe, so much as fear of the 
unknown, and fear of not doing their duty. 
This strong, natural, instinctive sense, by which 
we guard our persons and our pride, is not a 
shameful thing — it is common to all who are 

216 



MENTAL ILLS 

neither fools nor philosophers. But, filled as 
our two men are with this subconscious dread, 
what do we see? We see them laughing and 
joking, and apparently indifferent to death, 
ready in a flash for a trip "over the top," or 
for any dangerous duty which offers. Imagine 
the conflict going on here — the powerful in- 
stinct of self-preservation facing the unceasing 
menace which surrounds! And think of the 
laugh and the brave readiness of the external 
reaction ; and think, too, of the wet, and the cold, 
and of the deadly fatigue, and of the death 
which surrounds them; and last, but not least, 
of the seemingly hopeless, unending continu- 
ance before them. 

Then comes a day when our two men are 
caught in an explosion. They are buried in 
a mass of trench debris. They are dug out by 
their comrades. Up to this moment the two 
have had the same feelings, and have reacted in 
equally proud manner to the necessities of their 
life, but now — Private A. is found to have a 
crushed knee; Private B. is sound and whole. 
Private A. is placed upon a stretcher and, smil- 
ing and joking, is carried back to the rear. No 
wonder he is happy ! What is a little physical 
pain? His problem is solved! He has fought 
his fight, and he is through ! 

217 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

But what of Private BJ He sees his com- 
panion go — and he is left. He must again take 
up his rifle, and "carry on" as before. For 
him there is no relief, and he is tired beyond 
words — his very soul is both tired and sick. He 
is nervous, and ragged, and shocked. Suddenly 
something breaks within him. What is this? 
He finds that he can not move one of his feet — 
he is paralyzed! The thought comes to his 
mind with a pleasant rush — and now he, too, 
goes back to the hospital, a "shell-shock" case, 
tiis subconscious mind has won, and his prob- 
lem has been solved in its favour. There is no 
nerve injury; there is no organic cause for the 
paralysis, he has hysterical paralysis; but, so 
far as he is concerned, it is real, for he can not 
now move his foot. I say his subconscious 
has won. It has obtained for him that which 
he truly desired, but which he would not, in his 
conscious mind agree to, nor acknowledge. This 
is hysteria. 

Note the difference, here, between hysteria 
and neurasthenia. In the latter the conscious 
mind retains a control, albeit a sickly one, and 
life goes on in a forced, difficult progress, a 
process of continuous struggle. In hysteria, on 
the other hand, it is the subconscious complex 
which wins in the conflict, and, which, break- 

218 



MENTAL ILLS 

ing through into the conscious, in some modi- 
fied form, there attains its desire. 

In the illustration just given, the victim was 
prepared for his hysteria by outrageous strain. 
In civil life such a cause must be rare, and yet 
hysteria is a common disease. We must look, 
then, for some other cause, and this we shall 
generally find in the inherent disposition of the 
sufferer. Some individuals, from inheritance 
of nerve weakness and of nerve irritability, or 
through development of the same by illness, 
seem to lack the normal degree of conscious con- 
trol. They exhibit an increased susceptibility 
to suggestion, and respond in an exaggerated 
manner to all mental impressions. Their nerves 
are sensitive, and their excitability great, but 
their control is deficient. This is the hysterical 
tendency — few families are lacking in examples. 
This is the hysterical tendency, but it is not 
hysteria. To develop the latter, the buried 
complex and its conflict seem necessary. It is 
the buried complex, the hidden unconscious 
wish, which, breaking through into conscious- 
ness makes itself manifest in some one of its 
protean disguises. Here, now, we find, as in 
shell-shock, all those remarkable exhibitions, 
generally in the physical field, such as pains, 
contractures, spasmodic movements, faintings, 

219 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

fits, paralyses, and even blindness and deaf- 
ness. 

The hysteric patient has a pretty tough time 
of it in this life — and so does the family ! The 
symptoms are often so unreasonable, so per- 
verse, and so unnecessary, and, moreover, so 
opportune for the patient, that the latter is 
constantly under suspicion. The term hysteri- 
cal becomes, unjustly, a reproach; it would 
seem as though the patient must be pretending, 
as though he surely could be well, if only he 
would. Let us take an example from every- 
day life. The household is confronted with the 
spring cleaning — but the hysteric daughter de- 
velops a sick headache, and has to be waited on 
herself, while the others do all the work. Now 
this is enough to make any one mad! The 
others, the healthy members of the household, 
feel that the headache is a pretence, that it is 
assumed to avoid the unpleasant labour. Well, 
they are right, in a way, it is assumed — it would 
not have come on had there been a matter of 
pleasure in prospect — but it is, nevertheless, 
beyond the power of the patient to prevent its 
coming on, and it is real and distressing now 
that it is here. In other words, the headache 
is a response to an impulse from the subcon- 
scious mind (in this case, a desire to avoid 

220 



MENTAL ILLS 

work) but the conscious mind will not acknowl- 
edge this. The patient says, and actually feels, 
in her conscious thought, that she would be 
glad enough to do the work if only she could; 
but her unconscious desire is stronger than her 
conscious, and, being antagonistic to this, ac- 
complishes its end in a roundabout way — the 
headache is the result. The unconscious wins. 
The wish which could not be admitted into con- 
sciousness attains its end by a disturbance of 
the physical health. 

As has been said, this is outside of the pa- 
tient's power of control; she has not the mas- 
tery of her subconscious desire. The distaste 
for work may have been, and probably was, 
just as strong in the subconscious minds of the 
others, but this they were able to successfully 
over-rule. The patient with hysteria can not 
so over-rule ; her conscious mind condemns the 
wish, but her unconscious mind avoids this 
condemnation by a process of displacement, or 
" conversion, J ' and attains its end in a round- 
about way. All this doubtless sounds bizarre 
and surprising enough when first considered, 
but the hypothesis has stood the test of much 
investigation, and has, moreover, led to a 
method of cure, to be referred to shortly. 



221 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

I have given only simple manifestations of 
hysteria, and, in fact, prefer to limit the term 
to cases of this type. There are, however, many 
allied diseases which for the sake of some com- 
pleteness shonld be mentioned here. All of 
these, together with hysteria and neurasthenia, 
may be classed as ' 'psychoneuroses. ' ' We have 
here the so-called psychasthenias, where some 
one subconscious impulse of persistent nature 
habitually breaks through the weakened con- 
scious control, and gives rise to what are known 
as " obsessions' ' and " compulsions. " Thus, 
the patient may have a compelling desire to 
steal (kleptomania), or a desire to set fire to 
things (pyromania) ; or an obsession of inde- 
cision (folie de doute), where he struggles help- 
lessly between alternately presenting possible 
courses of action. In this last affliction, for in- 
stance, the patient may spend an hour choosing 
which suit he shall wear; or as, long, even, in 
deciding which shoe he shall put on first. He is 
never sure that he has properly turned off the 
gas, and he will try a locked door a dozen times 
to make sure that it really is locked. 

Again, a fear-habit may be established in 
some particular direction, as, for example — a 
fear of being in a closed place (claustrophobia), 
a fear of open places (agoraphobia), a fear of 

222 



MENTAL ILLS 

dirt (mysophobia), a fear of fire (pyrophobia), 
a fear of the dark (nyctophobia), a fear of 
thunder storms (astraphobia), or a fear of 
death (thanatophobia). Allied to these is 
hatred of intellectual effort (misologia), which 
would, however, like oniomania (a desire to 
spend money), seem to be perfectly normal with 
youth. 

In that very unpleasant disease known as 
the "anxiety neurosis' ' there is an unreason- 
able, unfounded sense of impending calamity, 
with all the physical manifestations and mental 
sufferings of fear, indefinable, vague, and un- 
knowable. Anxiety is, moreover, a symptom of 
many of the other disturbances, and in many 
cases is directly traceable to organic errors, 
especially to over-activity of the thyroid gland. 

Somnambulism, or better, as the French call 
it, automatisme ambulatoire, with partial or 
complete loss of memory (amnesia) is com- 
parable with the hypnotic states. There may 
be, too, a "splitting of the personality' 9 where 
one group of ideas and their associations be- 
comes dominant, and the patient lives for a time 
entirely within this group, all others being 
then quiescent and, therefore, forgotten. Pass- 
ing from life within this limited group, back to 
the normal life of the mind as a whole, and vice 

223 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

versa, gives us the cases of so-called dual per- 
sonality. 

Finally, we may mention here, though of a 
different class, the "psychopaths" — the moral 
degenerates, sexual monsters, and "pathologi- 
cal liars" — partially cases of bad inheritance, 
and partially cases of profound mistraining. 
In some of these there is a deficient mentality, 
with an inability to build up sentiments; in 
others the mentality is fair, or excellent, and 
sentiments are formed, but they are bad ones. 
Normal desirable tendencies may be lacking, or, 
more characteristically, perverted. But, what- 
ever the cause, the result is an antisocial being 
not guided by those standards upon which the 
rest of mankind lean for support. 

We are merely suggesting some of the com- 
plexities of our subject in mentioning these 
classes of the abnormal — their full discussion 
belongs to medical psychology; and, even there, 
there will be found but little agreement between 
authors. Those who desire only well-defined 
knowledge had best steer clear of this subject 
altogether. Probably the best opinion of the 
day is that which places the origm of the psy- 
choneuroses in the organic disturbances of the 
body, and their development in the patient's 
peculiarities of mind. Two factors seem to be 

224 



MENTAL ILLS 

necessary for the production of the average 
case — the mental, and the physical — but, if we 
regard mind as dependent upon the physical 
condition of the brain and nerves, then even 
this distinction becomes rather vague. 

In closing this section let us remark, to quiet 
certain thoughts that may have arisen with 
some of my readers, that but few of us have not 
experienced something of the symptoms de- 
scribed. These symptoms are not in them- 
selves evidence of an abnormal mind, they come 
to us all, especially in times of fatigue, and in 
illness — it is only when they have become in- 
ordinately persistent and uncontrollable that 
we reach the abnormal. 

Freud 

It was mentioned under hysteria that the 
theory of the hidden complex with the resulting 
mental conflict had led to a method of cure. 
The reference was to the Freudian psychanal- 
ysis. In a sentence the principle is this — if the 
mental disease is the product of a hidden, con- 
flicting, and irritating complex, unearth and 
unravel the latter, and the disease will be gone. 
Psychanalysis is thus an attempt to bring back 
to full consciousness the buried problem, to 
bring it back, to expose it to light, to explain it, 

225 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

to examine it philosophically, and, as a result, 
to rob it of its importance. The idea is fasci- 
nating and promising, for, as a matter of fact, 
many of these buried experiences date from 
early life, and it is often only necessary to dis- 
cover them to find that they are, in themselves, 
perfectly harmless. A child may have an ex- 
perience, it may be entirely misunderstood, and 
may be, to the child, very shocking. It may 
have been given a strong emotional value by 
the child, and it may retain this value until 
unearthed years later, when, on examination, 
its actual trivial nature is revealed. 

Parents are sometimes responsible for this 
state of affairs — a child may have some insig- 
nificant sexual experience, an exposure of the 
person, for instance.* It really means nothing 
to the child, and calls for only kind advice from 
the mother; but suppose that the mother ex- 
presses horror and shame for the child, pun- 
ishes her, and forbids her, in awe- compelling 
manner, ever to do such a shameful thing again ; 
forbids her even ever to mention it — the whole 
question is now on a wrong basis. The innocent 
childlike action receives in the child's mind an 
unhealthy accentuation, and yet must be re- 
pressed ! For weeks, long after the parent has 

* Cf. Wilfred Lay, op. cit. 

226 



MENTAL ILLS 

forgotten the incident, the child continues to 
brood over her sin, and then finally buries it in 
her subconscious mind, all wrapped up in its re- 
volting winding sheet. Here is the laying of 
a buried complex which may, however, unfortu- 
nately, be heard from again. Suppose now this 
experience be later unearthed — in the better 
judgment of more mature years it is recognized 
for what it was truly worth, namely, nothing; 
or, if still painful, it may be that, with our 
larger experience of life, we can now do what 
we could in nowise do before, fit it in, treat it 
rationally, and regard it with disarming under- 
standing. 

Psychanalysis has brought relief to many; it 
has often swept away unreasonable fears, and, 
honestly and skilfully used, it has often pro- 
vided a better philosophy of life — but, unfortu- 
nately, it has elements of danger. It is so 
extremely personal, and involves so much of 
sex, that it may do great harm through sug- 
gestion; and, moreover, it calls for a degree of 
intimacy between patient and physician which 
is in itself a menace, especially as the patient 
is generally of a neurotic and suggestible type. 
Again, it is not, and can not be, universally 
applicable. Aside from the possible, under- 
lying organic basis for the nervous affection, 

227 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

the fact, just mentioned, that the patient is 
often inherently and mentally abnormal, 
renders the conflict but an incident of the dis- 
ease, and not at all its sole cause. One who is 
by inheritance, or otherwise, temperamentally 
and organically wrong can not be cured by the 
removal of any one disturbing element. 

The keynote of Freudianism is sex, and this I 
have not felt it necessary to dwell upon. But 
let us consider for a moment the nature of 
Freud's position. 

Much of what I have ascribed to the subcon- 
scious, or unconscious, using these terms indif- 
ferently, is placed by the Freudians in what 
they call the ' ' f oreconscious " mind. For them 
the "Unconscious'' is the deepest substratum of 
all, and consists, if we may use such loose lan- 
guage, of desire, sexual desire. This is the 
" libido," the urge of sex, the urge of life, 
the instinctive wish aimed at propagation. The 
expression of this wish society has tabooed, and 
it has, therefore, been shoved back, or down, 
into the unconscious, whence it can again 
emerge only after transformation into some 
more acceptable form. From the powerful 
urge of this wish, and its efforts toward expres- 
sion, with its suppressions, and repressions, and 
transformations, the followers of Freud have 

228 



MENTAL ILLS 

built up a system of psychology. From the psy- 
chopathies, psychasthenias, neurasthenias, and 
hysterias, to dreams, everyday errors, blunders 
of speech, and forgettings, all are traceable to 
this unconscious sex urge. 

Now, to its devotees, this system of Freud 
seems all satisfying, and here is where, as it 
seems to the writer, the error lies. As a system 
it is complete only if we focus our attention on 
just these particular manifestations mentioned 
above, and leave out altogether the major part 
of the phenomena of mind. The fallacy in the 
Freudian idea lies in its pretension to be all 
explanatory and all embracing. That the sex 
impulse is explanatory of much, few will deny; 
but that it is explanatory of all, few will agree. 
As a consequence, the Freudian school, though 
prominent, is a small one — consisting of a small 
body of earnest students who are being car- 
ried away by the enthusiasm which attends all 
discovery, and who are pushing on to an ex- 
treme whither the rest of us can not be per- 
suaded to follow. 

Naturally much that we find in the uncon- 
scious mind, being elemental in character, has 
that startling quality which we commonly call 
brutal. If sex there looms largely, it is no won- 
der, as the sexual is probably the strongest of 

229 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

all of our inherited instincts. It is not, then, 
be it observed, because Freud is sexual and 
shocking that we object to him; science can not 
be advanced, nor approached even, if we are to 
recoil from a truth because it is unpleasant. 
There is no uncleanness in any honest scientific 
inquiry, no matter what the subject may 
be. 

From the theoretical standpoint it is easy to 
conceive of sex attraction as the ultimate basis 
of all material animal life, as it is, we know, 
the means of life's continuance. But this is, to 
me, not a useful concept of life — and the value 
of any concept must be determined by its use 
to us. Life has long outgrown the purely 
sexual idea, It has become vast and complex, 
and must be recognized and studied in all of its 
complexity. One can not hope to understand 
life, as it actually exists, by the consideration 
of but one factor, even though this one factor 
be both old and important. In the discussion of 
the sexual instinct, earlier in this book, Berg- 
son was referred to — let us follow Mm, and call 
the great life urge the elan vital, and then let 
us regard sexual desire as but one manifesta- 
tion of this great force. Again, however, on 
the other hand, do not let us be afraid to face 
actual sex problems when they arise. Many, 

230 



MENTAL ILLS 

very many, go through life with but vague and 
erroneous notions on the subject, and often- 
times to their sad detriment. In these cases 
psychanalysis has sometimes led to helpful re- 
adjustments, and to a healthier understanding 
of life in general. 

I have given only Freud's theory of the con- 
flict, and of the unconscious mind. It may be 
of interest, in closing, to refer to some deriva- 
tions from his original idea. To Freud, as we 
have found, the unconscious is made up of sex- 
ual desire, largely infantile or primitive, and 
the conflict is between this hidden desire and 
the conscious mind. To Adler, the conflict is 
between the unconscious ego and the oppres- 
sions of an artificial consciousness. To Jung, 
the unconscious is made up largely of the in- 
herited fancies of the race, and includes both 
repressed elements and those which have never 
yet become conscious. The conflict, here, is be- 
tween the adapted socialized functions of the 
conscious mind, and the, as yet, unsocialized, 
undifferentiated co-functions of the unconscious 
inheritances. To express it more simply, it is a 
conflict between that part of us which has be- 
come civilized, and that part of us which re- 
mains in the primitive state. If we can imagine 
a man of the Pleistocene Age suddenly brought 

231 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

into contact with the present, we know how diffi- 
cult would be his adjustment to the modern 
conditions. Such a Pleistocene man we have, 
each of us, within us. In one who tends 
toward thoughtful introspection, one whom we 
call an introvert, the struggle is between the 
conscious thought and the unconscious feeling; 
while in one who tends toward action, the ex- 
trovert, it is between the conscious feeling and 
the unconscious thought. Jung's conception is 
in agreement with much of the position taken 
throughout this book, though his sexual inter- 
pretations are decidedly at variance with it. 

Insamty 

Viewed psychologically, insanity may be de- 
fined as a mental disease developing such 
marked and persistent departures from the 
normal that the whole personality of the indi- 
vidual has become altered. Krafft-Ebing, from 
the anatomical standpoint, defined it as a dif- 
fuse disease of the brain, accompanied with 
nutritive changes, and with inflammatory and 
degenerative processes. However we may 
choose to define — and definition here is 
peculiarly difficult — it is evident that we are 
now dealing with a serious brain affliction; not 
with that which is simply not sane, not with a 

232 



MENTAL ILLS 

functional disease only, but with one deeply 
seated organically. 

As in all other mental disorders, there are 
generally two elements involved — the predis- 
posing, and the exciting. The predisposing are 
the inherited and acquired abnormalities of the 
individual, while the exciting are to be found 
in the storms and stresses of life. Of these two, 
the first must positively be present, but, not 
always being evident, it is often overlooked, 
and it is the seeond, the exciting cause, itself 
relatively unimportant, that is in popular belief 
generally alone held responsible. Thus we hear 
of persons "going insane" from grief and from 
disappointment, from fear and from shock; but, 
while it is true that without something of these 
the disease might never have developed, it is 
equally true that none of them alone can bring 
it on. Storm and stress factors enter into the 
development of practically all mental disorders, 
both mild and severe, but they are only factors, 
the ultimate causes lie deeper. 

We can not, then, diagnose insanity from the 
exciting cause — nor are the symptoms char- 
acteristic; neither by symptoms nor by symp- 
toms plus the apparent cause, can insanity be 
differentiated from other mental disturbances. 
For our differentiation we are driven back to 

233 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

the underlying first cause, the brain's organic 
predisposition, and it is upon this we must con- 
centrate our attention — upon this, and upon the 
course of the disease. The predisposing or- 
ganic factor can not, indeed, be always discov- 
ered, and its demonstration and proof is still 
more often lacking; but that it is always there 
the writer firmly believes. With the inheritance 
of diseased germ cells from the mother or fa- 
ther, or as the result of some devastating ac- 
quired disease of the patient, the brain has 
either been rendered abnormal in development, 
or has later undergone some permanent dam- 
age. What happens 1 With these anomalies of 
brain growth, with these peculiarities, micro- 
scopic, maybe, of structure, we get disturbed, or 
blocked, associations, and exaggerations and re- 
tardations of function. We have periods of 
inordinate excitement, and periods of depres- 
sion; we have distorted ideas of personality, 
and loss of memory, and loss of orientation. 
There are illusions, misinterpretations of the 
senses; hallucinations, images formed " without 
external cause"; and delusions, unreasonable 
beliefs maintained against all reasonable proof 
to their contrary. 

As prominent among the causes for these ab- 
normal developments, I would plaae syphilis. 

234 



MENTAL ILLS 

It is not always demonstrable — probably not 
more than fifteen per cent of insanity is now 
traced to this origin — but syphilis often leaves 
scars when the disease itself can no longer be 
proven. Syphilis is common, and insanity is 
rare ; the disease is often expended upon other 
organs than the brain, and it does not always 
cause the transmission of a diseased germ cell; 
but when it does attack the brain, or when it 
does cause transmission of diseased germ cells, 
some form of profound brain disturbance, gen- 
erally permanent, is bound to result. 

Alcohol has frequently been accused of " fill- 
ing our insane asylums/' but this is only one of 
those exaggerated statements so beloved by the 
prohibitionists. All enthusiasts tend to this 
kind of utterance. Prolonged alcoholism must 
naturally incline toward lowered vitality in off- 
spring, but it does not give rise to insanity — 
unless the delirium of the patient in acute alco- 
holism be so counted. Neurotic, illy balanced 
people have often a physiological call for alco- 
holic stimulation, and the use of alcohol is with 
them a symptom, not a cause. " Alcoholism is 
a sign of something, but by no means neces- 
sarily a cause for anything. ' ' * It is a sign of 

* R. G. MacRobert : The Journal of the American Medical Asso- 
ciation, April 10, 1920. 

235 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

our over-civilized life, with its mental fatigues, 
and of a craving for rest and relaxation, which 
can be obtained, by many, in this one way only. 
That it does not truly improve the health is too 
subtle an objection to appeal to the labouring 
man; he feels better after its use, and that is 
enough for him. As a matter of fact, alcohol, 
in moderation, brings about relaxation in a 
tired man, and, by this effect, it opens the way 
to the true physiological rest which his body 
demands. It has saved many a man from a 
breakdown, and has saved society many a 
strike, and other anti-social expression of tired 
and irritated nerves. 

The chief among the insanities may be in- 
cluded under the following four types ; paranoia, 
the manic-depressive group, paresis, and de- 
mentia precox — and, there might be added, the 
familiar dementia of old age. Paranoia is marked 
characteristically by delusions; first of hypo- 
chondriac and depressive nature, and then of 
suspicion and of persecution, and, ultimately, of 
inordinate self-importance. The last stage, that 
of importance, the stage of the exaggerated ego, 
is a natural successor to the second, that of 
persecution, for one is not persecuted unless 
one be important — the deduction is both logical 
and reasonable. The whole has been summed 

236 



MENTAL ILLS 

up tersely, as: "II fuit; il se defend; il at- 
taque." The manic-depressive group, includ- 
ing, in its typical form, the " cyclic' ' insanities, 
shows alternating periods of melancholia and 
of mania, of depression and of excitement, with, 
often, intervals of normal life. Paresis, & gross 
syphilitic disease, begins generally with loss of 
application, with loss of judgment, and with a 
general nervous irritability, and passes, in the 
typical case, to a second stage, known as the 
expansive, or grandiose. It is here we meet 
with the Queen Victorias and Emperor Napo- 
leons of the madhouse, with the possessors of 
fabulous wealth, and of miraculous power. The 
final stage in paresis is one of dementia and 
stupidity. Dementia precox, precocious de- 
mentia, is an insanity of puberty and of the 
young adult. There is here an early breaking 
down of the mentality; a child, after several 
years of normal existence, gradually becomes 
nervous, moody, irritable, inefficient, and shal- 
low; and then, ultimately, silly and stupid. 

It is evident, as has already been said, that 
there are no symptoms which are in themselves 
characteristic of insanity. The course of the 
disease is, however, always suggestive, for the 
end is, in nearly all cases, no matter what the 
beginning, a profound dementia, a more or less 

237 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

complete loss of mental power, together with 
other, physical, signs of degeneration. 

Not all inmates of asylums are insane, in the 
narrow sense which I have adopted. Many of 
the more serious functional disturbances tend 
to become permanently fixed, and may so inca- 
pacitate the victim that confinement, or as we 
might better call it, protection, in an institu- 
tion becomes desirable. Unfortunately there is 
a stigma attached to the suspicion of mental 
disease. Were it not so, were it regarded as are 
other diseases, relief from early symptoms 
would be more often sought, and doubtless 
many would thereby be spared the final col- 
lapse. Clinics for the early relief of mental 
disorders are now being established in our 
larger cities, and to them the heartiest encour- 
agement should be given. Patients of wealth 
have always been able to secure proper refuge 
in private sanatoriums, but these institutions 
are necessarily closed to those of lesser means. 
The public asylums, generally speaking, are 
good — some of them better than many of the 
private — but to obtain entrance thereto a com- 
mitment by court is required. The patient who 
is mentally ill can not obtain the aid he so much 
needs without being first stigmatized publicly 
as an abnormal being. In fact, he must be 

238 



MENTAL ILLS 

labelled as insane, for nothing short of this will 
satisfy the law. No wonder such aid is accepted 
as a last resort only — when it is too late, when 
the disease itself has become fixed and hopeless. 



It is a common remark, born, I believe, of 
our envy, that genius and insanity are closely 
related. The Emperor Charles V. had 
"epilepsy," so did Peter the Great. Caesar 
had hysterical convulsions, so had Napoleon. 
Pascal suffered from many nervous disabilities, 
and Eichelieu was a victim of periodic melan- 
cholia. Mozart had fainting fits, and died, at 
thirty-six, of a disease of the brain. Chopin 
and Beethoven were decidedly ' ' queer. ' ' Swift, 
Johnson, Cowper, Southey, Coleridge, Byron, 
Lamb, DeQuincey, and Poe are some of 
the many men of letters who have suffered 
from abnormality. But what does this sig- 
nify? These men, and many other of our 
great ones, are not like the rest of us — 
that is why they are great. They have 
quick sympathies, great imaginations, fine 
keenness of perception, and very ready asso- 
ciations — their minds are, in short, super-minds 
— but for this they must pay. The question 
has been already discussed, or at least referred 

239 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

to, in our opening remarks on the abnormal. 
There is a vast difference between genius and 
insanity ; the two are antipodal — nor do I refer 
now to the organic cause for the latter. They 
both do, indeed, depart from the normal, and 
both exhibit great activity of mind; but the 
genius has a wealth of images to draw upon, 
and has control of these images, and can weave 
them into thousands of patterns. The insane, 
on the other hand, are marked by paucity of 
material; with them the same patterns tend to 
recur indefinitely. Only in the first stages of 
an insanity coming on in an educated person, 
might there be any confusion. It would be diffi- 
cult to say, for example, at least from his writ- 
ings, just when Dean Swift gave the first signs 
of his mental disease. Here, in a case like this, 
a mind richly stored, when stimulated by dis- 
ease, may rise temporarily to higher flights of 
fancy, as well as to increased productive activ- 
ity. But the added power is soon lost ; the mind 
begins to shut in on itself, to lose control of 
associations, and, finally, to lose the associa- 
tions themselves. All but a few of the brain 
patterns become destroyed, and the control of 
these few soon passes out of the power of their 
possessor. 

The resemblance between genius and in- 
240 



MENTAL ILLS 

sanity, psychologically speaking, is merely that 
both are departures from the normal average 
of reaction — they are in no other way simi- 
lar. 



241 



CHAPTER XII 

THE CROWD 

Gustave LeBon characterized "the coming 
era," that very evidently now here, as the Era 
of Crowds ; while I, in my opening remarks have 
styled it one of Militant Minorities. Our 
thoughts really "jump together"; there is no 
contradiction here; we have merely concen- 
trated on two different features of the same 
phenomenon. The minority and the crowd are 
intimately correlated in action; the crowd is 
helpless until led, and the minority is powerless 
without the crowd which it engages to perform 
its will. Witness Russia today with its very 
small group of militant "red" despots, and its 
servile, helpless, red-following masses. 

But what is a crowd? Well, psychologically, 
it is a very different thing from that which the 
word ordinarily recalls to mind. In the ordi- 
nary sense it is a "confused multitude" (Stor- 
month), a mass of humanity, generally con- 
ceived to be upon its feet, and moving — a mob 
— a word which itself expresses motion, being 
but the apocope of mobile, and a slangy ab- 

242 



THE CROWD 

breviation of mobile vulgus. Psychologically, 
however, while the familiar mob is included, the 
term crowd is enlarged to embrace all groups 
of individuals who, by the act of grouping, have 
resigned a something of their individual char- 
acter, and have obtained, not new attributes, 
but a new type of behaviour, a new, or rather 
very old, manner of reaction. We are begging 
the question is a statement such as this, but 
its development will follow. 

In this psychological interpretation of the 
term we must place with crowds all groups that 
have become conscious of their existence as 
such, whether they be formed for a purpose or 
by chance. Conclaves, parliaments, congresses, 
holiday seashore crowds, and lynching parties 
will all be found to have something in common, 
and it is this something which makes the crowd, 
psychologically speaking. More than this, under 
certain conditions actual contact, even, is not 
necessary ; and a nation or any widely scattered 
group may still be swayed by the rules of the 
mob. The fervid inauguration of the Crusades 
in Europe offers an historical example of 
this. 

In all crowds there are, of course, limiting 
differences, special and particular determinants 
of action, certain likely types of behaviour, and 

243 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

yet — and this is why the various kinds may all 
be placed together — there is also a certain re- 
semblance. All of these groups, heterogeneous 
or homogeneous, formed for a purpose or by 
accident, tend to a type of reaction which points 
to that something they all hold in common. It 
is this mental unity, this mass-mind, which we 
must try to discover. 

The men of a group, and it does not have to be 
a large group (two is company, three is a crowd, 
would about express it), by their union form a 
compound, much as the chemical elements unite 
to form their compounds.* The mind of a 
crowd is in no sense equal to the sum of the 
minds of its members, nor even to an average of 
the same; it is, instead, on a plane distinctly 
below that average. A new compound has been 
formed in the union, but this new compound 
lacks much of the value of its component parts. 
Is this doubted! Note the insane violence of 
an angry mob, the cowardly brutality of a 
lynching party, and the stupidity of many legis- 
lative acts. Who of us has not applauded some 
vacuous platitude of a public speaker, and then 
wondered with shame, after returning home, 

* LeBon : The Crowd, A Study of the Popular Mind. London. 
It was not by chance that this chapter opened with the name of 
Gustave LeBon. The name of this distinguished French ethnologist 
and psychologist will always be associated with the psychology of 
the crowd. He has left little for us to add. 

244 



THE CROWD 

what it was that impelled our silly enthusiasm? 
The angry mob may be made up of peace-loving 
shopkeepers, and the cause of their anger may 
be, personally, of no interest to them whatso- 
ever. The lynching party may be composed of 
some of the "gentlemen" of the community, or 
at least of men who ordinarily and individually 
talk a lot about their honour and courage. The 
legislators may be level-headed men of capa- 
bility who individually recognize their legis- 
lative act as absurd. 

The mind of the crowd is not only inferior, it 
often possesses no reason at all. It is pri- 
marily emotional;* it is swayed by trivialities; 
it is intolerant of criticism; impatient, sug- 
gestible, and credulous. It lynches a man on 
the most paltry evidence ; it passes laws which 
it hopes will not be put into effect; it awards 
praise and blame without awaiting the facts; 
and it thinks, if it thinks at all, only after all 
is over. When the Greek assembly ordered the 
massacre of the citizens of Mytilene it acted 
against reason and contrary to its own inter- 
ests. Then came night and a recovery, for 
some, of their social sense and humanity, with 



* I have referred to the word moo as heing derived from mobile — 
note that emotion too, is expressive of movement. There is ex- 
hibited here the usual deep psychological intuition which lies be- 
hind so much of our language. 

245 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

the result that the following day the crowd is 
led to revoke its inhuman decree — which it does 
with the same enthusiasm it had exhibited in 
originally passing it. When the assembly, act- 
ing on like impulse, after the battle of Argi- 
nusae, ordered the deaths of its victorious gen- 
erals, because of their rumoured neglect to care 
for the bodies of the dead, the sentence was 
unfortunately executed before the reaction to 
sanity was obtained. It was the mob that with- 
out reason demanded that Christ rather than 
Barabbas should die. It was mob psychology 
that committed the September massacre (in 
1792), and which then sought reward for its 
"patriotic act." It is the psyche of the mob 
which causes a crowd to yell itself hoarse over 
the victory of some politician whom they do not 
know and whose policies and intentions must 
ever remain beyond their powers of apprecia- 
tion. It is the same psyche which leads to the 
hue and cry, to the careless destruction of prop- 
erty by holiday mobs, and to the cruelty of 
revolutionary tribunals. 

It is mob psychology which explains the ex- 
plosive laugh in the theatre when the actor, or, 
better still, the actress, exclaims "Hell!" or 
"Damn!" It is as though an electric button 
were touched, so quick is the response, and so 

246 



THE CROWD 

regular. As a matter of fact it is receptive 
primitive sensibility that is so touched off. The 
audience is ready to react, it is ready for the 
emotional response, and these primitive ex- 
clamations offer just the kind of stimulus 
needed. 

So with lynching, it is mob psychology, or, in 
other words, as it is here exhibited, a primi- 
tive blood lust, that explains the conversion of 
a group of presumably respectable citizens into 
a cowardly gang of ruffians. Lynching is not, 
as is so commonly believed, an outburst of 
righteous indignation. It too often follows 
some trivial offence, and is by no means always 
a punishment for heinous crime. 

It is, in part ajt least, mob psychology which 
explains how a nation can pass an Eighteenth 
Amendment, and then set its wits to work to 
evade it. It is the mob which burns men as 
sorcerers, and which cries for the blood of un- 
successful patriots, and which then erects monu- 
ments to their memory. It is, too, the mob 
which proclaims men as heroes and then sub- 
jects them to cavilling criticism. While one 
member of the committee pins a medal on the 
hero's breast, another pins, on the tail of his 
coat, a placard inscribed, "Please Kick Me" — 
or, at least, so once said "Mr. Dooley." The 

247 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

ceremony over, as the victim retires, the pla- 
card alone is to be seen, and the crowd joyously 
accepts its invitation. 

To understand the psychology behind these 
facts we must recall' the complexity of man's 
nature, the vast inheritance of primitive tend- 
encies, and the variety of his possibilities of 
expression. We know that the forest-past is 
but slightly veneered over by the social present, 
and we know how eagerly man reverts to the 
easy old patterns. This has been discussed 
earlier in this book, in the section on Play. 

Now, the fact is, when a man becomes part of 
a crowd he descends several rungs on the ladder 
of civilization. " Isolated he may be a culti- 
vated individual; in a crowd he is a barbarian 
— that is, a creature acting by instinct. He pos- 
sesses the spontaneity, the violence, the feroc- 
ity, and also the enthusiasm and heroism of 
primitive beings, whom he further tends to re- 
semble by the facility with which he allows him- 
self to be impressed by words and images."* 
The same thought is expressed, with his accus- 
tomed elegance, by Joseph Jastrow: "The col- 
lective mental responsiveness proceeds upon 
the elemental, communal traits of human na- 
ture; it reflects the indispensable, the more 

* LeBott. 

248 



THE CROWD 

nearly original in mental evolution.' ' Indeed, 
as he adds, in a measure the primitive psychol- 
ogy of man might be reconstructed from a study 
of man's collective actions. 

Man, then, does not take on anything by be- 
coming a member of a mob; he really drops 
something, and this something is, socially, his 
best part. He becomes simplified by a strip- 
ping away of his late accumulations of reason, 
and he is carried back to something near his 
original state. He thus, moreover, becomes 
more positive and direct, and even more under- 
standable for those who will read. His actions 
now are unhampered by social inhibitions and 
he has nothing to fear. But, as has been said, 
these are not new attributes that he has gained, 
they are merely old ones that have now been 
freed. A vari-coloured mosaic may present no 
distinct colour impression to the eye, but take 
away all colours but one, and that one will be 
evident enough. So man in a crowd attains to 
the mob psychology and becomes primitive and 
emotional, and direct, by a stripping away of 
his recently acquired mental additions, such as 
reason and deliberation. The passions so loos- 
ened may appear gross and unnatural but it is 
really by their freedom from nullifying re- 
straint that they come so into prominence. We 

249 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

learn something of the possibilities within us 
when we yield to the contagion of the crowd, 
and the insight so obtained should make us more 
humble. 

The explanation of this degradation of 
the individual by his incorporation into a 
crowd seems to me to be contained in a 
remark of Schopenhauer, who, speaking of 
association in general, says: "Intercourse 
with others involves a process of levelling 
down. The qualities which are present in 
one man, and absent in another, can not 
come into play when they meet." Apply this 
to a crowd. Cancel those qualities whieh 
are not held in common — the socially best, the 
intellectual and fine — and what is left? A few 
primitive reactions only, common instincts and 
tendencies, left now uninhibited and ready for 
expression — and these give you your crowd psy- 
chology. It is the innate only which is shared, 
and which by contact, emulation, and sympathy 
becomes reinforced. That which is merely 
reasonable, not being shared, weakens and dies. 
Efficient thought, able judgment, high purpose, 
these we know to be uncommon attributes, be- 
longing to the few, not the many; they can not 
be common in a crowd. All that the members 
of a crowd have in common are the original 

250 



THE CROWD 

emotional tendencies with which we all began 
life. 

Such, in my belief, is the essence of crowd 
psychology, though, of course, it is not all. But 
it is this which is the characteristic of crowds 
in general, and the underlying cause of all else 
that we find. For the rest we are thrown back 
to a study of the primitive tendencies and to the 
modifications of these in their collective expres- 
sion. All emotions enter into prominent play, 
but certain of them find in the crowd their most 
appropriate field of activity. Imitation, sym- 
pathy, and the gregarious instinct, these three 
closely related dispositions, are especially ac- 
tive, and from them alone one can explain much 
of what is observed. Vanity too plays a large 
part, as is shown by the methods necessary to 
crowd control, and, also, by the love of the 
crowd for unrestricted exaggeration. Out of 
many we have made one, but that one is strong, 
very strong, for in union there is strength ; in- 
dividual responsibility is lessened or altogether 
removed, as is, also, the fear of punishment. 
Each individual becomes both strong and dar- 
ing; he shares in the strength of the unit of 
which he has become a part, and he divides his 
responsibility by the number present. In this 
he does show, maybe, a glimmer of reason, but 

251 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

it is emotionally arrived at, not a product of 
conscious thought. Emotion rules all; argu- 
ments become futile and empty and tiresome. 
Generalized sentiments alone appeal, and a 
popular slogan, if sufficiently vague to be given 
by each his own interpretation, will outweigh 
all the facts in the world. 

These are, in general, some of the features of 
crowds, those common to all, though fortunately 
not always exhibited in their extreme. "When 
we come to consider the hinds of crowds, we 
find, of course, other factors involved. There 
are, for instance, the temperamental determi- 
nants of race. A crowd of Frenchmen, other 
things being equal, will hardly react in the same 
manner as will a crowd of English. The Orien- 
tal has his manner of responding to a stimulus ; 
the Occidental has his — and so on. Their tradi- 
tions provide a mould into which they naturally 
slip, and to which they adjust their reactions. 
There is a senatorial courtesy ; there is a mass- 
meeting discourtesy; or, to go far afield, note 
the handclapping of tennis spectators, the yells 
and "catcalls" of baseball rooters, and the 
silence of an enthusiastic golf "gallery." 

Is crowd action always bad? No, no more 
than are the emotions all bad; but it is always 
dangerous, as are all uncontrolled primitive 

252 



THE CROWD 

reactions. Our social life today demands a 
degree of intellectual command over the emo- 
tions, and it is precisely in this that the crowd 
falls below the normal for the individual. 

I am not competent to pass upon German 
etymologies, but Carlyle relates the German 
Schwarmerei (enthusiasm) with * ' swannery , ■ ' 
the gathering of men into swarms, and speaks 
of the prodigies they are in the habit of doing 
and believing "when thrown into that miracu- 
lous condition. ,, "Some big Queen Bee," he 
says, "is the centre of the swarm; but any com- 
monplace stupidest bee, Cleon the Tanner, 
Beales, John of Leyden, John of Bromwicham 
[Lenin or Trotzky], any bee whatever, if he can 
happen, by noise or otherwise, to be chosen for 
the function, will straightway get fatted and in- 
flated into bulk, which of itself means complete 
capacity; no difficulty about your Queen Bee: 
and the swarm once formed, finds itself im- 
pelled to action, as with one heart and one mind. 
Singular, in the case of human swarms, with 
what perfection of unanimity and quasi- 
religious conviction, the stupidest absurdities 
can be received as axioms of Euclid, nay, as 
articles of faith, which you are not only to be- 
lieve, unless malignantly insane, but are (if you 
have any honour or morality) to push into prac- 

253 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

tice, and without delay see done, if your soul 
would live!" 

The Queen Bee of the swarm, the successful 
political leader, is, perforce, a born psycholo- 
gist, a specialist in mob psychology, though he 
may never have heard of such a thing. He does 
not feed his audience reason; he does not pre- 
sent arguments — he does not acknowledge that 
there are two sides to the question. He asserts 
with emphasis; he reiterates, and he pounds 
the table. Opponents are fools and rascals. He 
plays upon all the primitive emotions — the van- 
ities, the fears, the loves and the hates — until, 
if he has played well, the audience rises with 
enthusiasm, with Schwarmerei, and acclaims 
him its political messiah. Failing to gain as 
much in contributions as it had hoped for, one 
party accuses the other of having received too 
much. It is not a statement of fact that is 
made, it is an accusation of criminality, and the 
sympathetic audience thrills with horror — at 
what? They do not know, but they act as the 
candidate knew they would act, and that is what 
he was after. 

Slogans become all powerful. "He kept us 
out of war" elected a president. We used to 
hear, too, of "A full dinner pail," and, long, 
long ago, of "An honest dollar." The term 

254 



THE CROWD 

"Yellow Peril" used to be good for at least one 
shudder; just as, today, the European radical 
unites his mob by frequent reference to "The 
White Terror." What is the White Terror? 
The slogan comes down from 1815, but it is used 
now to describe the humble bourgeoisie whose 
machinations are represented as aimed at the 
glories of radicalism! 

In the public assembly it is the same. It is 
Schwarmerei that rules, and it is he who best 
understands the psychology involved who oc- 
cupies the position of leader. It is Schwarmerei 
that votes away the people's money, and it is 
this same, plus mob exaggeration and loss of 
individual responsibility, that makes popular 
government the most expensive government of 
all. Are examples of my assertions needed — 
read the public press or better, the Congres- 
sional Record. 

It is a great game! The only difficulty is, 
and this is where its sportiness comes in, once 
started one can not let go. The mob is as fickle 
as it is emotional; it is emotional to the ex- 
treme, and therefore it is fickle to the extreme. 
Do not think that you can ever recapture a 
crowd once it has escaped your grasp. "Elo- 
quence is a bit," says Hugo, "if the bit breaks, 
the audience runs away and makes on till it has 

255 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

thrown the orator . . . instinctively he pulls 
the reins but this is a useless expedient," it only- 
makes the runaway the madder. It is a great 
game and its fascination is such that with many 
it is the game only that counts. With many a 
leader the material rewards are left to the 
henchmen. Not all politicians are out for the 
money. 

Has not all this a special bearing for us as 
advocates of democracy? I believe that it has, 
and a very important one. Since rule by the 
people must always mean, actually, rule by the 
few, it behooves us to see to it that our leaders 
are chosen with care. And they must be 
leaders in fact, not as is so often the case, them- 
selves mere followers of the mob. " There go 
the people," exclaimed one Roman Senator to 
another, on seeing a crowd surge across the 
forum, "We are their leaders — let us follow!" 
Such leadership is a mere concentration of the 
mob psychology into the hands of an executive, 
and makes for transient success only. Intellec- 
tual control, conference, and deliberation must 
be the reliance of democratic government if this 
is to become what the ideal calls for. The best 
will of the people must be followed, that which 
is expressed through its best intelligence, and 
the mob should be guided to agree. 

256 



THE CROWD 

Psychology has no quarrel with democracy; 
we all believe at least in the republican form 
of government, but psychology recognizes its 
difficulties. Democracy would be easy only 
were all men angels— and well educated ones at 
that. 



257 



CHAPTER XHI 

THE DELINQUENT 

We have spoken of the conflict between the sub- 
conscious and the conscious mind — there is an- 
other conflict, that between the individual and 
society. From the social standpoint, man is 
normal or abnormal according as to whether or 
not he finds himself able and willing to adapt 
to the social requirements. 

Life is a process of adaptation from the mo- 
ment of birth to that of death ; and growth con- 
sists in learning our limitations. Our individ- 
ual claims meet the claims of other individuals, 
and adjustments become necessary if all are to 
go on. So it has always been — Adam and Eve 
doubtless made many mutual compromises; 
Cain was unable to adjust to Abel, so removed 
him. He treated Abel as man today has treated 
the liquor problem — the problem was too big 
for him, so he killed it. By friction, and clash, 
and adjustment, society has been moulded, and 
what we find today is the result of the conflicts, 
to the present. ' i Man is born free ; and every- 
where he is in chains" is the lament of Rous- 

258 



THE DELINQUENT 

seau ; but what does this mean — is it not simply 
this, that no man is free to do just what he 
pleases? The desires of man are as the sands 
of the seashore, and any one of them, unsatis- 
fied, and brooded over with discontent, may be- 
come both a grievance and a gyve. 

The great problem has always been to unite 
men, with their strongly individualistic tenden- 
cies, into a group, and there keep them happy. 
Now this can not be done without willing sacri- 
fice on the part of the individual, and many of 
the supposed " inalienable rights of man" must 
give way for the sake of the group. The result 
is that social man finds himself in the end con- 
fronted with far more duties than rights. That 
he does truly gain by serving society is, of 
course, demonstrable, but that he would gain 
more by serving himself, seems far more likely 
to the many. Nor is belief in rights limited to 
any one class. Note the demand for untram- 
melled speech by certain college professors. 
Failing to recognize the obligations assumed by 
the acceptance of his position, and believing 
falsely that all independence of expression is 
good, the college radical demands that he shall 
be permitted, if he think well of it, to undermine 
the very institution which gives him a living. 
According to Johnson, every man has a right to 

259 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

express his opinion, and every one else has a 
right to knock him down for doing so. This 
may or may not be a good rule, but these pro- 
fessors who whine when they are punished for 
defying the college authority might profitably 
give it a thought. The social spirit is not a 
common one — it is particularly rare, for in- 
stance, among socialists — we have it, as a rule, 
only when it does not encroach on some hobby 
of our own. Certain rights we always reserve 
and refuse to contribute for the social good, but 
if all such reserved rights were to be extracted 
together, the social fabric remaining would be 
but a sorry remnant indeed ! 

The fact is, the majority still talk of rights 
and struggle to assert them, and so long as this 
is so, social unrest must surely continue. The 
concept of duty, this unpleasant necessity of 
civilization, once fully grasped, social problems 
will become soluble — they will even solve them- 
selves. This the masses do not, cmd cam not 
understand, and, led by youthful idealists, 
whom they necessarily misinterpret, they 
grumble. They still do obey society's laws, be- 
cause they must — or, more truthfully, if they 
must — but it is always a matter of compulsion. 
They are like children who resent the restric- 
tions which their elders place upon them, but 

260 



THE DELINQUENT 

who accept and obey because they are power- 
less to do otherwise. This is one group, the 
largest — here, indeed, we find the most of man- 
kind — but there is another group, too, among 
the unsocial. This other is composed of those 
who not only do not accept society's duties with 
understanding, but who do not accept them at 
all; who are, in fact, actively in opposition to 
the same. These are the "Reds," a militant 
minority who are as individualistic and unsocial 
as was primitive man. Strongly in opposition 
to all social restraint, if interested in politics 
and of some intelligence, they become an- 
archists ; if not so interested nor mentally able, 
they become our professional criminals. These 
are the natural criminals, the irreconcilable 
enemies of society— the intransigents of the 
underworld of crime. 

A word as to the relative degrees of intellec- 
tuality here exhibited. In thus ascribing a 
higher order of intelligence to the anarchist 
than to the criminal, we would seem to be going 
contrary to the facts, but I believe not. The 
so-often commented upon "smartness" of a 
criminal is generally nothing more than an in- 
difference to moral issues. Remove the moral 
restraint, and many things become easy. While 
on the other hand, the insensate actions of an- 

261 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

archists, and others of like ilk, are often solely- 
due to an extreme narrowness of mind — a very 
different thing from stupidity. Within a cer- 
tain very limited field of thought, they may be 
really able; readers and writers of books, and 
energetic speakers. Their judgments are 
worthless, but they are judgments for all that ; 
what they lack is broadness of understanding, 
and, above all, the social sense — the conception 
of obligation to society, a conception involving 
the social ideal of duty. Fundamentally, the 
Red and the professional criminal have the 
same attitude toward society, they both pro- 
pose to exploit it for their individual gain. 

In the broadest sense, social inadequacy, like 
individual abnormality, includes all disability; 
it includes all who do not or can not contribute 
to the welfare of society — the aged, the ill, the 
crippled, the idiot, the imbecile, and the insane. 
Of these we need not now speak, their social in- 
adequacy is so evident that society excuses them 
and demands from them nothing. The delin- 
quents, on the other hand, are socially inade- 
quate individuals upon whom society does make 
demands — demands which they are unwilling or 
unable to satisfy. Here are those, just men- 
tioned, who have distinctly anti-social disposi- 
tions, who regard society malignantly ; and here 

262 



THE DELINQUENT 

are those who would be willing enough to obey 
society's behests if they knew how, or but could! 
It is this last class which seems to me to be the 
most important of all. Here are those pathetic 
individuals, the high-grade imbeciles and 
morons, who, unrecognized as such, are ex- 
pected to meet conditions far beyond their best 
powers. Here, too, are the most of the delin- 
quents which society itself has produced by 
false economics, and by class greed — the vic- 
tims of fate. With the high-grade imbeciles 
and morons we will include those, too, just a 
little higher in mental achievement, who still 
find themselves unable for the social struggle. 
Together these form the permanent children of 
the race — they are, physiologically, examples 
of arrested development; they actually do not 
possess the mentality necessary to permit of 
their making the associations and adjustments 
required. They act on impulse, as do children; 
they have weak inhibitions, and but too slight 
control of their primitive emotions. The pro- 
nounced cases of mental failure, as has been 
said, are of no moment, for they are recognized 
and excused from the social demands ; but these 
others, who are not recognized, who drift 
through life, bumped this way and that, kicked, 
even, and struck at, or knocked down and trod 

263 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

upon — all because they will not do what they 
can not do — these are the tragic ones ! 

Here we find our tramps and our beggars, our 
professional prostitutes, and many, very many, 
of our criminals. The tramp is simply one who 
can not adjust to the high level of average so- 
ciety. He has tried, maybe, several social 
planes, before he has finally found that to which 
he is adapted. Here he may live and even be 
happy, but let philanthropy, or chance, raise 
him to where he does not belong, and he will 
break with the strain. Lifted out of his sphere, 
he goes to pieces mentally and physically; put 
him back on the plane which is normal for him, 
and he once more becomes happy. The whole- 
sale dragnet of the draft swept many of this 
type into the army, and the result of the de- 
mands there made upon them has been to fill the 
government insane asylums — with men who, let 
alone, might have gone through life in simple 
contentment. Other hundreds are serving long 
terms in prison because they, too, were unable 
to adjust quickly to military discipline ; they are 
being punished because nature had denied them 
the power of adjustment ! 

Power of adjustment is relative. Many ac- 
complish it so long as no very difficult problem 
presents, but when the problem does become too 

264 



THE DELINQUENT 

heavy, something happens — one becomes a 
neurasthenic, another an hysteric, another a 
dyspeptic, while another, again, becomes a thief, 
or a murderer. Environment and education 
will probably determine whether a man of this 
class shall go to the doctor, or to the gallows. 
One girl, a high-grade imbecile, but carefully 
protected from all the problems of life, will be 
a debutante belle and immensely popular — her 
vacuous mind exhibiting itself in pretty childish 
ways which are strongly appealing to the "pro- 
tecting sex. ' ' Another girl, of the same mental 
plane of feeble-mindedness, confronting the 
heavy problems of life, problems touching her 
very existence, problems of food, clothing, and 
shelter, simply can not meet them — and gives 
her body as the easiest way out. This girl 
reaches the hospital and morgue, just about the 
time that the lucky one is planning her mar- 
riage. 

But feeble-mindedness aside, what of the en- 
vironment of the very poor, with its deadly per- 
verting and stunting effect? Listen to Charles 
Lamb [the quotation has been adapted] : "The 
child of the very poor does not prattle. No one 
has time to dandle it, no one thinks it worth 
while to coax it, to soothe it, to humour it. If 
it cries it can only be beaten. It never had a 

265 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

toy. It grew up without the lullaby of nurses. 
It was a stranger to the hushing caress, the at- 
tracting novelty. No one ever told to it a tale 
of the nursery. It had no young dreams. It 
was dragged up — to live or to die as it hap- 
pened. It breaks at once into the iron realities 
of life ; it chaffers ; it haggles ; it envies ; it mur- 
murs. It has come to be a woman before it was 
a child. " 

As an infant which has been the victim of 
severe bodily illness seldom regains full normal 
vitality, so one which has suffered severe depri- 
vation in the emotional field seldom attains to a 
normal adult emotional life. 

The concept "criminal" is a purely legal 
one.* It tells nothing of the individual, but 
only society's opinion of him. A thief may be 
a man of high ideals in the first stage of some 
mental disease. He may be unmoral, and de- 
ficient in a sense of social obligation, and of 
right and wrong, or he may be feeble-minded. 
He may have stolen when intoxicated, or he 
may be a kleptomaniac. He may have strong 
tender emotion and may have been impelled to 
steal by the necessities of his wife or child. He 
may be a man of bad inheritances and bad im- 

* Cf. William A. White, Principles of Mental Hygiene. 

266 



THE DELINQUENT 

pulses ; or he may be a man of good inheritances 
and good impulses, but all overlaid by bad edu- 
cation and environment. Whatever he is, how- 
ever, society labels him a criminal, and society's 
laws are concerned only with his crime. 

Society as a whole, then, discriminates but 
little. The criminologist, on the other hand, 
would effect some sort of a classification, gen- 
erally from cause. They tell us that we have: 
Born Criminals, those with inborn tendencies of 
a strong anti-social nature; Criminals of Edu- 
cation, those with acquired criminal traits; 
Criminals of Occasion, those who under eco- 
nomic stress yield, in one way or another, to 
temptation; and, finally, Criminals of Passion, 
those with strong or uncontrollable emotions. 
As to the feeble-minded, they are to be found in 
all of these groups. 

What is to be done about it? Here we have a 
criminal class, the smallest of all our classes in 
society, and more troublesome and more costly 
to society than all the others put together. 
Well, in one sense, society itself makes the crim- 
inal. It is the resistance to the laws of society 
which constitutes criminality. Each new law 
involves certain additional members of society 
in its meshes, for each new law calls for new 
adjustments and brings in new temptations. 

267 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

One nation has free trade; another forbids im- 
portation except under restriction and tax. 
What is a natural right in one country is a 
crime in the other. "I like a smuggler," says 
Lamb, "he robs nothing but the revenue, an 
abstraction I have never greatly cared about.' ' 
I am not criticizing the law — I believe in import 
revenue myself— I am merely trying to show 
that it is the law which makes the criminal. 
The lawyer would persuade us, at least so it 
would seem from their attitude, that their law 
is sacred and moral, and that crime and sin are 
synonymous — but they are not — they are quite 
other than that! It is the word law which in- 
troduces the confusion. We use the same word 
for the ordinations of God, that we use for the 
edicts of our legislatures! Many of society's 
laws are purely arbitrary assumptions of the 
desirable, and only too often these assumptions 
are both wrong and immoral. I sat recently 
through a term of the criminal court down in 
North Carolina. Nearly every case presented 
was a violation in some form of the liquor law, 
and would not have been there had there been 
freedom of liquor traffic. In this same court I 
saw four boys sentenced to sixty days each on 
the chain gang — for what heinous offence! 
Why, for playing ' i crap ' ' ! The court here com- 

268 



THE DELINQUENT 

mitted a sin; the boys had committed only a 
crime. 

The position taken by Hegel is simple and 
adequate as an explanation of much of our at- 
titude toward crime. Hegel places the will of 
the individual as secondary and unimportant as 
compared with the will of society. The measure 
of right and wrong is to be determined by so- 
ciety alone; what is anti-social is unrecht. 
Society triumphs in the penalty. Punishment 
is not a chastisement, but a just retribution — 
not a means, but an end — the solemn affirmation 
of a violated principle. You can not correct a 
criminal by killing him, but you must kill him 
to vindicate the social conception. 

As regards capital punishment there is, it 
seems to me, no other defensible attitude. Cap- 
ital punishment has never, in the United States 
at least, acted as a deterrent for the more seri- 
ous crimes; nor did it in England when it fol- 
lowed, for instance, a theft of a sum in excess 
of ten pence value. With us there is always the 
chance of acquittal — a major chance, for, as one 
jurist has remarked, murder in the United 
States is the safest of crimes. Nor is capital 
punishment useful as an example to others. 
One of our wardens recently conceived the idea 
of having hardened criminals present at execu- 

269 . 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

tions of the death penalty in his prison. This, 
it was supposed, would impress them and cower 
them, and arouse in them generally the deter- 
mination to lead better lives. What happened 
was that the solemn silence was broken by hoots 
and catcalls, and by cries of "When do we 
eat!" Dr. Paul Aubry, in France (1888), 
found that of 177 murderers, 174 had previously 
witnessed executions. A bit of criminal psy- 
chology comes in here — "A gallows standing 
high in the gaze of all the world has some 
analogy to a throne,' ' says Hugo. But listen to 
a more authoritative voice. Henry Fielding, 
who was a judge as well as a writer, has this to 
say: "No hero sees death as the alternative 
which may attend his undertaking with less 
terror, nor meets it in the field with more 
imaginary glory [than does the professional 
criminal]. Pride, which is commonly the 
uppermost passion in both, is in both treated 
with equal satisfaction. . . . His procession to 
Tyburn, and the last moments there, are all 
triumphant; attended with the compassion of 
the meek and tender-hearted, and the applause 
of his fellows. ' ' * The execution has now been 
made fairly private, and its glory has thereby 
been dimmed, but may wardens be restrained 

* An Inquiry into the Causes of the Late Increase in Bobbers. 

270 



THE DELINQUENT 

from further experiments in this direction! 

To return to Hegel — that his position is not 
now endorsed seems to me to be evidence of our 
illogical processes of thought, and of our will- 
ingness to substitute cant for honesty ; but it is 
evidence, also, of a nebulous, growing feeling 
that our whole attitude toward crime may be 
wrong. 

There are two evident responsibilities, that 
toward the individual, and that toward society. 
These can not be entirely reconciled, nor has 
much effort been made in the past to accomplish 
this feat. Law has theoretically considered so- 
ciety and has forgotten the individual, while 
philanthropy has considered the individual and 
has forgotten society. Law has considered the 
crime, and forgotten the criminal — while phil- 
anthropy has considered the criminal alone. 
Today, happily, a new criminology is coming 
into being. Today the ideal is to include the 
two factors corresponding to the actual respon- 
sibilities. The new criminology aims, with the 
older philanthropists, to consider the criminal, 
but to this duty it adds the protection of so- 
ciety. It now proposes to try the criminal, 
instead of the crime. 

Practically this ideal calls for the complete 
271 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

reform of our criminal laws, or rather for a 
complete change in our attitude toward them. 
It calls for a stripping away of the law's long 
accumulated concretions, and a remodelling on 
a rational hasis. When one considers the petri- 
fied nature of the present tradition-laden forms, 
the order seems a large one ! 

What happens under the system as it ac- 
tually exists? The prisoner stands in court a 
mere incident of the trial, a sort of impersona- 
tion of the crime of which he is accused. He 
may be the victim of circumstances over which 
he has had no control, or he may be feeble- 
minded; he may be any of a dozen things, but 
he is not on trial — only his crime. He is found 
guilty, and is sent to prison. New friends now 
come into his life, those strong friends one 
makes in adversity, but among them, unfortu- 
nately, are many who belong to the class of pro- 
fessionals. If he were not criminally inclined 
before (and he need not have been to get sen- 
tenced) he now certainly acquires criminal 
ideas; if he were so inclined, his criminality 
becomes confirmed and its technique improved. 
He is a number, a dog which society has cast 
out; he becomes bitter, and hard, and anti- 
social to the core. He broods over revenge ; he 
learns new ways in crime, and he eagerly awaits 

272 



THE DELINQUENT 

his discharge that lie may try them. He is 
finally released — but he says an revoir, not fare- 
well! He goes out into society, commits some 
improved form of his old crime, and, if the 
police are again lucky, comes back for another 
seclusion at the public's expense. 

What are some of psychology's suggestions 
as regards this situation? As a fundamental 
suggestion, and as a point of departure for 
others, it declares that the penalty shall be con- 
sidered not as a punishment of the prisoner, but 
as a measure for the protection of society. It 
holds that society, instead of concentrating on 
revenge, should rather, like a wise parent, in- 
terrogate itself as to the errors it may have 
committed to have produced this erring child; 
and then, having protected itself so far as is 
possible, it should seek to bring about reforma- 
tion. It suggests that judges and lawyers shall 
be trained in criminal psychology, in order that 
the prisoner before them may be to them a 
human problem; and that they shall try the 
prisoner, and not simply endeavour to fit his 
crime into section and paragraph of the crim- 
inal code. It suggests that there shall be an 
extension to adults of the experience of the 
juvenile courts — that the constricting red tape 
of formal court procedure shall be largely 

273 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

stripped away, that the children of larger 
growth, also, shall be handled humanely, and 
that experts shall be in attendance to aid in 
interpreting the personality of the prisoner. 
It suggests that, whenever possible without 
danger to society, first offenders, and those 
guilty of crime under stress, shall be set free 
under court supervision. If wrong has been 
done to another, that wrong shall be righted so 
far as it can be. Fines paid to the state may 
have value as punishment, but restitution to 
the victim of the crime has the double value that 
it emphasizes also what is here particularly 
needed — the sense of social responsibility. It 
is the state's negligence which has made the 
crime possible, and the state should see to it 
that the victim's loss is made good. 

Where there is commitment to prison, the 
sentence should be indeterminate; the avowed 
enemy of society should be held for life, if need 
be, as are the less dangerous insane; but dis- 
charge should always be possible when the pris- 
oner can be certified to as fit once more for the 
social experiment. Finally, psychology and hu- 
manity both suggest that the prison shall be a 
reformatory in fact ; that the professional crim- 
inal shall be separated from the chance of- 
fender, but that both shall be given every help 

274 



THE DELINQUENT 

toward mental and physical health; that they 
shall receive good food, have proper exercise, 
and instruction, learn useful trades, and be gen- 
erally guided to higher ideals. 

It may be said that many of these principles 
are already recognized in our better communi- 
ties — but how many " better communities, ' ' in 
this sense, have we in this broad land of ours? 
We have chain-gangs in the South — to which, as 
we have seen, even boys are sentenced, and that, 
too, for so trivial an offence as the playing with 
dice. The court with a knowledge of criminal 
psychology is a curiosity. The crime is still 
tried, not the criminal. Experts are hired par- 
tisans of one side or the otjier. The indetermi- 
nate sentence is only occasional. No reparation 
is possible for the victim but by personal and 
costly suit; and punishment leads to the incul- 
cation of anti-social, not social, ideas. Prison 
discipline is in the hands of politically ap- 
pointed " keepers' ' — often brutes of less social 
promise than the men whom they bully.* 

I say nothing of the false attitude toward the 
plea of insanity, nor of the dishonest use of this 
plea as an evasion; nor of the privileged im- 

* See Frank Tannenbaum, in The Atlantic Monthly, for April, 
1920, on Prison Cruelty. But compare, also, the article by " Num- 
ber 13 " in the same magazine for August, 1920. This last is a 
rather remarkable exposition of the criminal mind. 

275 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

niunity of the rich ; nor of the perversion of the 
state's prosecuting attorney into a persecuting 
attorney, concerned only with his own personal 
"success"; nor of that ancient, and honourable, 
and ridiculous relic, the jury. There are many, 
many things in court formulas which have no 
better reason for being than that they were once 
useful. All this would take us too far afield, 
and any lawyer will tell you that I am already 
out of my province, and talking nonsense. How- 
ever, I am merely presenting the psychological 
attitude, and if I am giving it too dogmatically 
this is but for clearness. A naturalist may give 
an opinion of a pictured flower, and while this 
opinion may be resented by the artist, and may 
even be absurd from the artistic point of view, 
it may still have a value. I return to the jury — 
it is not exactly a flower, but it is too important 
psychologically to be omitted. Here it sits — a 
perfect example of survival — a habit of proud 
origin, the function of which has gone, the very 
expression of which has degenerated, and yet 
which has retained its sentimental place. The 
jury, today, is still spoken of as the "bulwark 
of liberty." Originally a conclave of the vil- 
lage sages, then a defence against the arbitrary 
ruler, we find it, today, a group of men, the ma- 
jority almost invariably of subnormal type, be- 

276 



THE DELINQUENT 

fuddled and wondering, to whom the whole 
court procedure is directed. The opposing at- 
torneys play down to its level, and that side 
wins which best understands the working of its 
collective subnormal mind. 

But, after all, the disposal of the criminal is 
only one part of the problem. It is important 
because it is a practical and present issue which 
we must meet, but there is another, more im- 
portant, and this is the prevention of crime, or, 
we might say, the prevention of the criminal. 
As in the treatment of other diseases, it is the 
preventive measure alone which makes for im- 
provement. All crime can not be prevented — • 
no matter what reformative measures be used, 
there will still remain a residuum of individuals 
whose inherent natures will throw them into 
conflict with society. But something can be 
done, the criminal class can be greatly reduced 
— and in this reduction, it seems to me, lies one 
of the first duties of the state. The old philan- 
thropy, as has been hinted, does not get very 
far; it relieves the individual, and lets the sys- 
tem alone. The only real good it does is to the 
soul of the philanthropist, and he could just as 
easily get his good elsewhere. Not only has 
philanthropy done little good, it has even done 
harm, for in many ways it has tended to per- 

277 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

petuate the abnormal. It has cared for the in- 
dividual, has kept him on his feet, has supplied 
him with crutches, and has helped him to marry 
and to perpetuate his kind. Nature deals with 
its unfit in a far simpler way — it eliminates 
them — but philanthropy says, "No! This man 
is in Grod's image! He must be preserved !" 
So philanthropy preserves him, lets him marry 
— and society becomes burdened with a vast 
progeny, all of whom, in their turn, must be 
cared for by the next generation of philan- 
thropists.* 

There is, however, in response to the modern 

* At the risk of weakening my argument, above, I must give a 
rather unique example of what, in a way, would seem to endorse 
the philanthropic position. 

Richard Edwards married, first, Elizabeth Tuttle (I quote from 
Dr. White's Principles of Mental Hygiene), and later divorced her 
because of " adultery and other immoralities." Richard then mar- 
ried again, and by this second marriage had numerous descendants, 
none of whom became known to fame. A sister of Elizabeth com- 
mitted murder, and so did a brother. Elizabeth's grandson was 
Jonathan Edwards. In 1900 (Winship), 1,394 descendants had 
been traced, including : 13 presidents of colleges, besides many 
principals of other educational institutions ; 60 physicians, many 
of them eminent ; 100 clergymen and professors ; 75 officers of the 
army and navy ; 60 prominent authors ; 100 lawyers ; 30 judges ; 
and 80 holders of public office. There were no criminals. 

It would seem, strictly speaking, that it is stupidity alone which 
is hopeless. Where there is good mental power, moral obliquity is 
always possible of reformation. It was with this possibility in 
mind that I urged the moral duty of giving all prisoners " a 
chance." This does not negative the position I have taken above 
as regards the older philanthropy — the cases which would fall into 
the Edwards' category are so few as to be almost negligible — the 
great majority of criminals are cases of deficient mentality, and it 
is absolutely sure that from them we can have none but defective 
descendants. To understand the Edwards' family, look back to 
what was said of abnormality in the opening of the Chapter on 
Mental Ills. 

278 



THE DELINQUENT 

need, a new movement in philanthropy — one 
which concerns itself with the care of the child, 
and in which brotherly love is no longer allowed 
to obscure reason. The child and its environ- 
ment are the subjects of this modern movement 
— the home, the health, the education, and the 
play of the child — and the objects are, the teach- 
ing of useful habits, the training to useful occu- 
pations, the development of community and 
social sense, the recognition of social duties, 
the formation of proper friendships, and the 
instilling of the more useful ideals. These are 
the aims of psychology, and these are the an- 
swers to the social problems which psychology 
can most heartily endorse. The schoolroom, 
the playground, the neighbourhood house, the 
boy and girl scout movement, and the boy and 
girl clubs — these are the present instruments 
of success. 

The physical care of the child is already be- 
ginning in our larger communities, but all com- 
munities must be roused to its importance. The 
physical examinations in school should be ex- 
tended to reach the whole school system, and, 
moreover, should be made more thorough. To 
the physical examination should be added psy- 
chological tests, and the mental abnormalities 
of the child should receive full attention. The 

279 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

physical defects and neuropathic tendencies, 
thus recognized in time, will often be found pos- 
sible of correction. Nervous children, and chil- 
dren in the critical period, will be treated with 
intelligence, with an appreciation of their diffi- 
culties, and will no longer be driven, as is so 
often the case now, to their permanent injury. 
It will be remembered that it is the nervous 
child who is really the important member of the 
class ; it is he who has the greatest possibilities 
both for good and for bad, for himself and for 
society. Children of bad inheritance will be 
especially supervised and guarded, and much at 
least of the harm threatened them will thus be 
averted. 

The kindergarten should be open to all; but 
first to the poor. Teachers must be better pre- 
pared and, of course, better paid. The honour 
and dignity of the teaching profession must be 
more generally recognized. Educational boards 
must be removed from politics, and their mem- 
bers chosen for their knowledge of educational 
matters. The schools must have better sanita- 
tion, and health must be esteemed, even in the 
school, as superior to knowledge. 

How can these happy ideals be realized? We 
live in a democracy, and if democracy means 
anything it means individual responsibility and 

280 



THE DELINQUENT 

co-operation. The church, and the school, and 
the state must work together. The newspapers, 
so many of which still warrant Ruskin's de- 
scription — "the black of them coming off on 
your fingers and, beyond all washing, into your 
brains' ' — must cease to be textbooks of crime. 
Public opinion, and that means the opinion of 
each individual, must become active in the sup- 
port of wise legislation. All must work to- 
gether, and a harmonious spirit of endeavour 
must be created. The court, and the prison, and 
the police remain, but the police, in the millen- 
nium I write of, become helpful aids in securing 
social improvement; while the court and the 
prison become, respectively, the dispensary and 
the hospital for the treatment of social ills. 

The times are urgent, the world is running 
amuck. War and revolution have so stirred the 
pool of life that all manner of horrid things 
have been brought to the surface. Crime and 
misery are rampant, and ignorance reigns su- 
preme. New formulas in the economic field 
have lost their seductiveness, and basic revision 
of thought has become absolutely necessary. 

But if the times are urgent, they are also 
propitious. There is now in the souls of men a 
spirit of public service — may it not be evanes- 
cent! Even Bolshevism, with all of its hor- 
28X 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THOUGHT AND FEELING 

rors, is a response to a craving for something 
good — its errors and misdirections are but 
those of crass ignorance. A great force, vari- 
ously named, is seeking expression now in this 
world. To guide this force, and to realize its 
aspirations, is our duty and our only salvation. 
The problem is man — let man be our study. 



THE END 



282 



INDEX 



INDEX 



Abnormality, individual, 208 

social, 208, 258 
Abstracts, 139 
Adams, Charles Francis, 98 
Adams, Henry, 4 
Adler's modification of Freud, 

231 
Adrenal glands, 19, 26, 33, 

169 
Age and youth compared, 112 
Agoraphobia, 222 
Alcohol, use of, 235, 247, 258 
Anarchists, 261 
Anger, 19, 32, 173 

social effects of, 33, 34 
Animals, instincts of, 40 

language of, 105 

thought of, 104 
Anxiety, 56 

neurosis, 223 
Arnold, Sir Edwin, 177 
Association, areas in brain, 15 

in memory, 85 

in rewards and punish- 
ments, 147 
Astraphobia, 223 
Asylums for insane, 238 
Attention, 79, 81 
Aubry, Paul, 270 
Automatic actions, 13, 71 
Automatisme ambulatoire, 223 
Awe, 55 

Bashfulness, 38, 57 
Beecher, Henry Ward, 160 
Beggar, the, 264 
Bergson, 8, 21, 40, 41, 128, 
230 



28§ 



Bhagavad-Gita, 177 
Binet test, 93 
Bliss, Howard S., 206 
Bolshevism, 100, 242, 281 
Brain, 9 

pictures, 186, 188 

in delirium, 188 
Browning, 1, 112, 162, 189, 

204, 206 
Buddhism, 35, 177 



Carlyle, 2, 28, 118, 253 
Carrington, H., 182, 190 
Character, 70, 133 
Chesterton, G. K., 36, 119 
Child, education, 123, 163 

emotions, 54 

habits, 73, 131 

judgments, 112 

logic, 154 

of the poor, 265 

mental development, 139 

personality, 128 

play, 48, 152 

praise, 150 

punishment, 145 

reasoning with, 143 

rewards, 149 

sentiments, 66 

social care of, 279 

sympathy, 142 
Christianity, 31, 35, 47 

and the mind cure, 172 
Christian Science, 167 
Claustrophobia, 222 
Coleridge, 115, 239 
Compulsions, 222 



INDEX 



Conflicts, mental, 213, 225, 

231 
Confucius, 115 
Consciousness, field of, 157 
Contempt, 55 
Conversion, 63 
Courage, 57 
Cramming, 85 
Criminal, the, 266 
Crowd, the, 242 
Cryptopsychism, 197 
Cure, nature of, 167 
Curiosity, 38 
Cyclic insanity, 237 

Darwin, 2 

Defectives, see Subnormal. 

Delinquent, the, 258 

Delirium, 188 

Delusions, 189, 234 

Dementia precox, 237 

Democracy, 101, 118, 205, 255, 

256, 280 
Devil, the, 31 
Dhyana, 177 
Disgust, 37 
Dispositions, the, 6, 14, 17, 

22, 37, 70 
Duties of man, 259 

Eddy, Mrs., 172 
Education, 123 

and society, 155 

and the subconscious, 163 

difficulties of, 132, 141 

duties of parents in, 131, 
134 

effect of appreciation in, 
153 

effect on prejudice, 119 

effort in, 150, 155 

expectations from, 154 

individual, 156 

in former days, 126, 127 

language and, 137 



of conduct, 142 

of habit, 131 

passivity of child in, 141 

praise in, 150 

present ideals of, 128 

punishment in, 145 

purposes of, 123, 129 

results in, 154 

rewards in, 149 
Edwards, Jonathan, 278 
Egotism, 65, 66 
FJan vital, 40, 230 
Elohim, 180 
Emerson, 153 

Emotions, classification of, 
22, 57 

compound, 54 

in children and subnormal, 
54 

nature of, 18, 19, 22 

simple, 22 
Epictetus, 173 
Epigram, the, 117 

Faith, cures, see Mind cure. 

subconscious seat of, 205 
Pear, 24 

effect of, on health, 167, 
216 

in religion, 27 
Feebleminded, the, see Sub- 
normal. 
Fielding, Henry, 270 
Flammarion, 193 
Fletcher, Horace, 173 
Flournoy, 182, 190 
Folie de doute, 222 
Fore-conscious, the, 228 
Forgetting, 86 
Freedom of speech, 259 
Freud, psychology of, 39, 216, 
225 



Galen, 69 
Generosity, 57 



286 



INDEX 



Genius, 208 

and insanity, 239 
Gerould, K. F., 32 
Glandular actions, 18, 19, 26, 

33, 169 
Goddard, H. H., viii, 67, 97 
Gratitude, 55 
Gregarious instinct, 38 
Grief, 56 

Habit, 71 

in education, 131 
Hallucinations, 186, 189, 234 
Happiness, 62 
Hate, 55, 59 
Hegel, 269 
Hell, 30 
Hickson, 172 
Horror, 55 

Hugo, Victor, 255, 270 
Hypnotism, 179, 223 
Hysteria, 215 
Hysterical tendency, 219 

Idea, the, 58, 59 
Idiot, see Subnormal. 
Illusions, 189, 234 
Imagination, 92, 108 
Imbecile, see Subnormal. 
Insanity, 189, 232 
Inspiration, 179 
Instincts, 8, 39 

in insects, 40 
Intelligence, and knowledge, 
93 

grades of, 95 

in education, 127 

in industry, 100 

in government, 101 

in society, 97, 261 

tests, 93, 96 
Interest, 20, 79 



Jastrow, Joseph, 210, 248 
Jealousy, 56 

Johnson, Samuel, 239, 259 
Joy, 62 

Judgment, acceptance of, 113, 
114 

in children, 113, 154 

in subnormal, 113 

kinds of, 111 

prejudiced, 116 

valuation of, 109, 115 
Jung, psychology of, 231 
Jury, the, 276 

Keary, Charles Francis, 31 
Kleptomania, 222 
Knowledge, and education, 
125 
and intelligence, 93, 127 
Krafft-Ebing, 232 

Labour and intelligence, 100 
Lamartine, 193 
Lamb, Charles, 265, 268 
Language, and thought, 103 

degradation of, 105 

in education, 137 

national, 137 

of animals, 104 
Lay, Wilfrid, 130, 211 
Law and the criminal, 267 
LeBon, Gustave, 242, 244 
Lenin, 253 
Liberty, 137 
Libido, 39, 228 
Loathing, 55 
Locke, 133, 134 
Lodge, Sir Oliver, 189, 194 
Lourdes, 171 

Love, sentiment of, 59, 65 
Luther, 114 
Lynching, 244, 245 



James, William, 5, 12, 42, 50, MacRobert, R. G., 235 
73, 75 Mania, 222 

287 



INDEX 



Manic-depressive insanity, 237 
Maternal instinct, 44, 50 
McDougall, William, viii, 5, 

57, 58 
Meanness, 57 
Mediums, spiritist, 189 
Melancholia, 70, 237 
Memory, 77 

aids, 86 

and thought, 103, 107, 120 

associative, 87, 106 

auditory, 90 

nature of, 77 

partial, 91 

pictorial, 87 

systems, 86 

visual, 90 
Mental, conflicts, 213, 225, 
231 

growth, 125 

ills, 208 
Menti-culture, 167 
Metaphysical psychology, 2 
Militant minorities, 4, 242 
Miracle cures, 164 
Mind cure, the, 164 
Misologia, 223 
Mob, the, 242 
Modesty, 57 
Monism, 121, 183 
Montaigne, 1, 112, 158, 162 
Montessori, 152 
Moral indignation, 45, 54 
Mores, 118 

Moron, the, see Subnormal. 
Miinsterberg, 198 
Mysophobia, 223 
Mysticism, 175 

Negative self-feeling, 37 
Nerve, cells, 9 

exhaustion, 211, 218 
Nervous system, cerebro- 
spinal, 9 

gvmpathetic, 18 



Neurasthenia, 211, 218 
Neurokyme, 13 
Neurons, 9 
Nirvana, 178 
Nyctophobia, 223 

Obsessions, 222 
Oniomania, 223 
Over beliefs, 122, 190 

Paine, Tom, 104 
Paranoia, 236 
Parental instinct, 44 
Parents, duty in education, 

131, 134 
Paresis, 237 
Pathological liars, 224 
Patrick, G. T. W., 47 
Patterns, brain and nerve, 8, 

13, 26, 71, 77, 108 
Philanthropy, 271, 277 
Phobias, 222 
Pity, 46, 54 
Play, 47, 54 

and war, 52 
Pleasure, 62 

Poor, environment of, 265 
Positive self-feeling, 37, 65 
Praise, value of, 150 
Prejudice, 86, 116 
Prophets, the, 180 
Prostitutes, 264 
Psychanalysis, 225 
Psychasthenia, 222 
Psychology, definition of, 5 

fundamental conceptions, 6 

occupational, 102 

past and present, 1 
Psychoneuroses, 222, 224 
Psychopaths, 224 
PunisTiment, capital, 145, 269 

in education, 145 

of the criminal, 269 
Pyromania, 222 



288 



INDEX 



Pyrophobia, 223 

Quipus of Peru, 86 

Reasoning with children, 143 

"Reds/' 261 

Reflex actions, 8, 11 

Regret, 56 

Religion, and anger, 35 

and fear, 27 

and mysticism, 176, 180 

and tender emotion, 47 

origins of, 27 

sects in, 114 

sentiment of, 63 
Remembering, process of, 85 

wrongly, 86 
Remorse, 56 
Reproach, 56 
Revenge, 56 
Reverence, 28, 55 
Reverie, 106, 175 
Rewards and punishments, 

145 
Ribot, 57 

Rights of man, 259 
Rousseau, 258 
Ruskin, 150, 281 

Sainte Anne de Beau PrSs, 

171 
Samadhi, 177 
Schopenhauer, 81, 115, 250 
Scorn, 55 
Schwarmerei, 253 
Self-feeling, positive and nega- 
tive, 37, 65 
Self-regarding sentiment, 65 
Sensation, 16 
Sentiments, and ideas, 59 

definition of, 58 

in children, 66 

in feebleminded, 66 

religious, 63 

self-regarding, 65 



valuation of, 64 
Sex instinct, 39, 228 
Shame, 57 

Sharp, Dallas Lore, 76 
Shell shock, 216 
Slogans, 254 
Social abnormality, 208, 258 

instinct, 39 
Society and the individual, 98, 

258 
Socrates, 1 
Socratic method, 120 
Somnambulism, 223 
Sorrow, 55 
Spinal cord, 10 
Spiritism, 182 
Spiritualism, 182 

scientific attitude toward, 
189, 200 

testimony as to, 198 
Splitting of personality, 223 
Study method of boy, 82 
Subconscious, the, 157 

cerebration, 160 

conflicts with, 213 

contents of, 157, 161, 192, 
213 

control of, 163 

faith and the, 205 

importance of, 202 

in education, 163 

in hysteria, 215 

in mysticism, 175 

in neurasthenia, 212 

in spiritualism, 182 

in telepathy, 197 

messages from, 159, 176, 
179, 182, 186 

nature of, 157, 162 

truth and the, 201 
Subnormal, the, causes of, 95 

classification of, 95 

emotions with, 54 

in society, 97, 262, 263 

judgments of, 113 



289 



INDEX 



sentiments of, 66 
Sufi, the, 179 
Suggestion, 173 
Swift, E. J., 198 
Sympathy, 45 

in care of the child, 142 
Syphilis and insanity, 234 

Tannenbaum, Frank, 275 
Telepathy, experiences in, 194 

explanations of, 193 

scientific attitude toward, 
193, 200 

testimony as to, 198 
Temperament, 68 
Tendencies, innate, 6, 14, 17, 

22, 37, 70 
Tender emotion, 44 
Thanatophobia, 223 
Thought, and judgment, 103 

and language, 103 

and memory, 103, 107, 120 

and the subconscious, 118, 
201 

constructive, 108 

deliberative, 107 

in animals, 103 



nature of, 103, 105 

original, 108 
Tramp, the, 264 
Trance of cessation, 177 
Trotzky, 253 
Truth, 108, 110, 111 

and the subconscious, 201 

ultimate, 206 

Ulysses on wisdom, 115 
Unconscious, see Subconscious. 
Freud's, 228 

Valedictorian, the, 127 

War, 34, 52 

and spiritualism, 184 
White, William A., 266, 278 
Wisdom, 114 
Wister, Owen, 25 
Women, 44, 50 
Wonder, 38 
Worry, 167, 211 

Yahweh, 180 

Yogi, 177 

Youth and age, 112 



290 



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